A Shot in the Dark: the 71st Hunger Games
by nevergone4ever
Summary: Twenty-four tributes will again enter the arena that will claim the innocent lives of most; this year, the stakes are higher than ever and the cold fingers of fate scrabble powerfully at each tribute's heart. Scarlet flowers will bloom on a bed of flesh, and some smirk at this. Little do they know that where one district has an advantage, another's Achiles heel is in plain view.
1. Chapter 1

**Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane, 37**

"Good luck out there, Seneca," whispers my wife, Addilyn. Her expression is worried for me, but it doesn't hide her incessant beauty. Her pale face is graced with two dark arches for eyebrows and the most incredible long, black eyelashes you've ever seen.

"Thank you, honey," I tell her, my grip tightening on the file folder I hold. "I just hope he won't think that this year is too excessive. I worked really hard on this."

"Why would it be too excessive?" Addilyn asks.

"Well, sweetie. A Quarter Quell is right around the corner and he wants that to be more memorable, naturally."

"I see," she muses.

A woman with lime green tendrils around her oval-shaped face pokes her head out of the office. "President Snow is waiting for you," she deadpans, her eyes flickering over to Addilyn for a brief moment before her head pops back into the room.

Addilyn hugs me for a moment, then hurries back to wait on the sofa with our son.

I inhale sharply before entering through the heavy door.

The lime-green haired woman is nowhere to be seen- instead, it's just President Snow, who sits sipping a red mug of something brown. "Welcome, Seneca," he greets me coldly, even though we've been acquaintances for three years now. "Let's get right down to business, shall we?"

I swallow nervously. "Yes, sir," I declare, spreading a white sheet over his desk.

It takes four or five minutes for him to fully consume the idea of this arena. He strokes his beard thoughtfully, slurping down more of his drink. Me? I sit in the chair feeling like a canary being looked over by a tomcat. I'm terrified.

Suddenly Snow looks up, his blue eyes piercing through me sharply. "Seneca," he addresses me firmly. "You do know that the Quarter Quell is in just three years, correct?"

"I am aware, sir," I say.

"Although this arena idea is fine, it may be a bit too extravagant for a Games that comes nearly directly before the Quell."

"A funfair idea seems fine, sir," I begin nervously, "and we could tone it down a little. Perhaps take away the human muttations and the food booths-"

"No." Snow shakes his head. "Seneca, I told you what I was looking for. Something historical this year. And this is more modern. We still have these 'funfairs' throughout Panem!"

"But sir-"

"It was also brought to my attention that the outlier districts have not had a victor for twenty years. Meaning, of course, Ten, Eleven, and Twelve. This arena should be modified to fit one of those districts, therefore giving one of them an edge."

"Sir, that's never been done before-"

"I know it." He interrupts again. "But if they don't have a victor soon, Ten could rebel. It's one of the largest districts. Their last victor was seventeen years ago, Seneca! Two has had THREE in that time, One having FIVE!" he's standing now, his hands slammed down on the desk in anger. "Do what you are told or PAY THE PRICE!"

I back away numbly, my eyes wide in fear. "Yes, President Snow," I reply coldly, my heart in my throat. With that, I snatch up the map of the funfair arena and dart out.

Addilyn springs up. "What did he say?" she asks cheerfully. "That was quick!"

"He… hated the funfair idea," I tell her. "Said it wasn't historical enough."

Her jaw drops to the ground. "You worked two months on that arena!" she exclaims. "Seneca, the Reapings start in two weeks. You'll only have three weeks to create another arena idea to pitch!"

I sigh. "Let's head home, Addi."

Tetris, my eleven-year-old son, follows at our heels mournfully, his huge brown eyes downcast. He doesn't understand much, but he does understand that this is not very good news just by our tones. I'll fill my family in on more at supper. But for now, I have an arena to plan.

Dinner comes. Addilyn makes my favorite meal, baked chicken rolled in horseradish with sautéed asparagus and cornbread. But I can scarcely eat. I threw away six arena possibilities already, and I'm having a lot of trouble coming up with something that would tie in to an outlier district.

"Papa, are you OK?" Tetris pipes up after we say grace. "Your face is sad."

I smile faintly. "I'm all right, Tetris. Just tired."

"Then you have been tired all day, for your face has been like that since this morning when you came out of Mr. Snow's office."

I try not to say something bitter. Instead, I stab a few asparagus spears onto my fork and delicately chew. "Wonderful meal, sweetie."

"Thank you!" Addilyn perks up from dejectedly staring into her chicken. "I used paprika this time in the cornbread. Can you tell?"

Tetris takes a huge bite and almost immediately spits it into his napkin. "Spicy," he gags.

"Tetris," I say sternly, glancing warily at my own cornbread. Oh, well. Might as well while there's a glass of milk at my place.

"Well? _Is_ it spicy?" Addilyn questions anxiously, watching my face closely.

"Perhaps just a bit," I respond, taking a couple swigs of milk. "Nothing excessive, though."

After a few moments of chewing and swallowing in silence, Addilyn breaks the barrier. "Seneca, I can't stand it. Did you come up with another arena pitch or not?"

My face falls. "I've had lots of good ideas since this morning, Addi. A historical shopping mall, historical nature reserve. Things like that. But Snow says they're supposed to tie into an outlier district, namely Ten, Eleven, or Twelve."

"A horse stable!" Tetris exclaims. "For District Ten!"

I smile weakly. "I've thought of that, Tetris. Nice idea, though. But it wouldn't work. This arena needs to be big, and horse stables would cover perhaps half a square mile."

"What about a coal mine for Twelve?"

"There's too great a risk that it could collapse on the tributes, and then there wouldn't be a victor at all."

"Not even a forest? District Eleven has orchards, doesn't it?"

"That's a possibility."

We all sit there in our dining room. The only sounds are clinking of forks against the plates and dejected chewing.

As if on a silent cue, my wife gasps and springs up from her chair, knees knocking together excitedly. "Seneca, I've _got_ it!" she announces joyfully, and whispers it into my ear.

My brown eyes grow huge as I listen into more and more of her suggestion. Tetris looks at us questioningly.

I jump up beside my wife, something that is very out of character for me. "Addilyn, you've got it!" I sing out. "Not even _Snow_ could reject that idea! It ties in perfectly with both the outlier district AND the historical theme! You're a GENIUS!"

"Aren't I?" she jokes.

Nearly two weeks later I revisit Snow's office with a confident grin on my face that nothing could wipe off. When I spread the paper over his desk this time, his reaction is immediate. He can't hide his pleasure as he scans the sheet, not even stopping when he comes to the rockiest part.

"Seneca Crane…" he begins, hiding a positive smile behind his fist, "this arena is one of the best I've seen. I never really expected you to tie in with both themes, but you really have exceeded my expectations. Congratulations!"

"You'll use it? Sir?" I add hastily.

"Yes," President Snow declares confidently. Gazing out his picturesque window, he continues on, "This arena truly is beautiful. The perfect place for one victor to rise to glory, for twenty-three others to fall at their mercy. Yet it won't completely overshadow the Quell's arena. This biome is a piece of historical art, Seneca. One of the best arenas I have seen in all my years of president."

"Thank you, sir," I say after a moment's hesitation. I really don't want to break this amazing moment with a 'sir'.

He turns back to me. "As usual, I'll expect you to send the muttation forms over to Mr. Krock at the breeding facility to begin creating these creatures, yes?"

"I will, sir."

"And remember to print extra blueprints once you get them to the builders. Most of them forget those maps at home and have to use others'."

"Yes, sir."

As I walk out of the office, a grin plastered firmly onto my face that nothing could shake, I feel the weight of the world slowly being lifted off my clavicles.

**A/N: Well, well, well. We're back with a second SYOT! The form is on my profile, submit as many as you want for a better chance of getting into the 71****st**** Games. I only accept forms by PM, though. Make a note of that!**

**Quick thing- I have already chosen the females from 1, 2, and 4 so please don't bother writing up a form for them. But all the others are fair game. Tell your friends, too! ^-^**

**May the odds be ever in your favor!**


	2. 1 Somebody Told Me

**It's not confidential- I've got potential.**

**-Somebody Told Me, the Killers**

**Brucite Gergeon, 18, District One**

"Bruce, Bruce, can I come with you?"

I wrinkle my nose at Nano. You'd think that at fifteen he'd have some friends of his own, not just pawning off mine.

"That sounds like fun!" Mom claims, wiping her hands on her cream-colored apron, a small smile slowly making its way to her mouth. "What are you boys going to practice?"

"Mom," I protest, shoving a spoonful of scrambled eggs through my awaiting mouth. "He's _not_ coming with me."

"Yes I am!" Nano replies indignantly, hurrying over to Mom. I scowl, knowing immediately what will come next.

"Honey," begins Mom. I quickly cut her off to try to avoid her world-class speech.

"Mom, can't he hang out with- wait, what's his face… Lemme think here…"

"His NAME is Dustin," Nano tells me sullenly, hanging his head.

"Yeah. Dustin. Can't he hang out with Dustin? They can shoot some bows and arrows or something, maybe even-"

"Bruce…"

"Swing an axe if they're lucky and the trainer-"

"Bruce, Nano is coming with you."

I pause in the middle of my sentence. Mom raises her eyebrows and I know that it's pointless to argue. "_Fine_," I snap, throwing my bowl at the sink and storming to the front door.

Topaz and Dunite are waiting for me out in my yard, throwing a football back and forth.

"Hey, guys!" cries Nano, rushing forward to intercept one of Dunite's perfect passes.

"Bruce," Topaz grumbles, his blue eyes flickering over to my little brother, "Why is he tagging along with us again?"

"Sorry," I mumble. "Mom made me. We can ditch him at the sword station, you know how he gets caught up in watching his reflection."

Topaz looks like he wants to say more to me but instead hollers to Nano cheerfully, "Hey, little buddy! Pass me the ball!"

The walk to the Training Palace is uneventful, mainly because there's no girls to show off to. Usually Dunite, who has even larger muscles than I do, and I will flex at a random mailbox and snatch up their attention. Topaz, the most quiet one, would chat with them until he 'accidentally' mentions us, and then we have a triple date for that night.

As Dunite and Nano annoyingly chuck the ball back and forth, Topaz talks with me a bit. "Happy Reaping, Bruce."

"Yeah," I reply, a smirk plastered onto my face firmly. "Happy Reaping."

"Gonna volunteer like you did last year?" teases Topaz.

I snarl back, "Yes, but this time that tiny little escort will notice ME, not that one guy. Marvel, his name was, right?"

"Marvel Damper, that's the one."

"I can't believe that she noticed that skinny little idiot instead of me. He hardly killed!"

"He made four kills and lasted until the final six."

"Yeah, but then what happened? He gets murdered by the Eleven girl, and we all know that District Eleven has no chance of winning since the Training Palace was built!"

"I heard she was good at bow and arrow because she shot birds out of the sky from feeding on their orchards. You know, a Scarecrow."

"Scarecrows never win. You know that, Topaz."

"Oh, shut up," Topaz responds back. His deep voice vibrates his Adam's Apple, and I watch with slight fascination as it bobs up, then down. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down.

"Bruce," he motions ahead of us. "It's them, Rasp and Monica. Aren't you and Dunite gonna, I dunno, roll up your sleeves and casually do push-ups or something?"

"He's not interested," I shoot back. Dunite's actually checking out the chest on the brunette one discreetly, but I know that Topaz's eyesight isn't the best. It's sort of a mystery how he noticed the two girls in the first place.

"Anyways… Ready to murder some dummies?" I motion to the Palace that looms ahead of us.

Topaz smirks. "Read my mind, Bruce."

**Constance von Trapp, 17, District One**

As I toss and turn in my bed, images from the night before haunt my mind.

_There she was… my sixteen-year-old sister. Everybody's favorite little girl, destined to volunteer these Games. Just innocently splashing and giggling with her slightly older friend. What was her name? Dazzle or something equally stupid like that._

_The side of my hand burns from the scrape I got earlier in snatching the knife. I wince slightly, pushing the bloody side into my thigh. _

"_Constance!" calls Kimberly, her chestnut hair glistening in the aqua water. "You said you weren't going to swim with Dazzle and me!"_

"_C'mere," I call, motioning to the pool bench next to me. "I need to tell you something… in private." I sneak a glance at her friend, who is too busy adjusting her halter bikini top to pay me any notice._

_Kimberly skitters out of the water perkily and follows me into the lady's dressing room. "What did you need?" she asks, her voice never once wavering._

"_You can't volunteer tomorrow," I say, giving her one last chance to prove herself. _

_Kimberly's eyebrows draw together. "Sorry, sister. You've had more chances than I have. Maybe you can volunteer next year, after I come home as victor!" she chirps._

"_But this is my year," I reply, stalling for time as I adjust the tool in my hand so my fingers enclose the ivory handle._

"_No way," giggles Kimberly. Always smiling. Always chipper. "My year, Connie."_

_That's the last thing she ever said. Quicker than lightning I knocked her to the ground. Her skull smacked painfully into the wet tiled floor. I straddled her quickly and poised the knife over my head._

_Kimberly's brown eyes widen and her lips stretch out into an O, but it's already far too late. The only part of the knife visible is the beautiful ivory handle, glimmering faintly in the tacky fluorescent lights. A thin stream of crimson slowly trickles out of the fatal wound and blends with the clear chlorine-filled water._

_I shoved her body into a shower stall crudely, not knowing where else to put it. By the time they discovered it was me, I'd already be in the arena with a few more kill counts to my name. I'd have no punishment at all for this terrible crime._

Sweat glistens on my forehead as I step awkwardly out of bed. My black and silky pajamas cling to my skin. "Water," I croak out nearly silently, feeling the dryness of my tongue as I moved it around my mouth.

My family's Avox, Dais, was downstairs knitting something. I know what you're thinking- slavery. But it's not like that, not really. Almost every family in District One has at least one Avox, and some don't treat theirs well. But Dais is important to us… To me and Divines, my big brother, at least. Mother and Father are very formal to her, almost like she's not human.

"Dais," I call in a haunting, creaky voice. "Would you please get me some water?"

She sets down the red knitted item and scurries to the kitchen.

It's very early morning, around two or three. I'm surprised Dais was even up. When she returns I ask her, knowing full well that she can't respond, and when she makes some gestures to indicate she couldn't sleep I don't believe her but let it go.

Later in the morning, about nine or so, my friends came over. Tempera's my best friend. Her appearance isn't unlike most in One, with curly brown hair and sea blue eyes. Her face is rather narrow, something she's spent hours obsessing over and goggling at herself in a looking glass. But each time I've assured her that her facial structure is fine, she takes ten more minutes to stare at it.

Trancer Tooran is older than us by a year. He's a bit handsome in my book, and I think Tempera's harboring a mad crush over him. He has bulging muscles, deep red hair, and soulful blue eyes. Strangely, he's not crazy about training like many other boys in One. He's training instead to become a musician- he specializes in guitars mostly, and he sings a deal as well.

When Dais led them up to my room, I gasp. I knew there were purple splotches circling my eyes and my skin was paler than a ghost, which Tempera was prompt to point out.

"I think I know that, Temp," I snap as I quickly dab some foundation on. Trancer groans.

"You girls, always obsessing over your face. I think y'all look fine, to be honest."

"It's a female thing," Tempera defends quickly, jabbing an index finger at his ratty old orange sweatshirt. "You could learn a thing or two from us, Trance."

"The name's Trancer?" my friend says teasingly, ruffling a hand through her curls like she's just a little sister to him.

I briefly swipe some grey eyeshadow over my eyelids before turning back to the quibbling duo. "It's the Reaping!"

"We know," Trancer says back-handedly, examining an antique doll whose foot was sticking out from under the bed. "That's why we came here."

"We'd like to wish you good luck when you volunteer," Tempera tells me shyly, something unusual for her. "I really hope you make it back OK."

"Do you seriously have to volunteer?" Trancer's dark blue eyes pierce mine, and I avert my gaze.

"It's something I'd like to do," I say uncomfortably.

"Trance," warns Tempera. "Let it go. It's our Connie. She'll come back alright… Right?"

Her tone, uncertain, makes me hug her tightly. "Of course. I'd never dream of anything less."

Suddenly a very awkward air hangs loosely in my room and Trancer clears his throat. "About your sister, Constance…"

"We're real sorry," Tempera interrupts him.

"Don't be," I reply boldly, shrugging. "Kimberly was stupid. It was bound to happen sometime or another, right? She always was reckless."

Tempera's mouth falls open and Trancer is quick to push his thumb under her chin. "Some people handle death differently," he mutters quickly to her, turning his steely stare back to me.

"Well… we brought you a care package," Tempera says, still shell-shocked. She quickly moves outside my door and brings in a wicker basket filled with fresh fruit and magazines.

"Oh my God, I love you!" I screech, moving in for a magazine with my idol, Gloss, on the cover. I examine his tanned face hungrily, looking for the birthmark just above his left eyebrow that defines him as the one and only Gloss Catch.

Trancer looks a bit uncomfortable as Tempera hops onto my bed and pats the spot next to her. Instantly we get immersed in an interview for the upcoming Hunger Games, and one shot of him raking a hand through his perfect chestnut hair makes me squeal girlishly.

"Excited much?" my redheaded comrade says sarcastically from his spot propped up near my door.

I spring off the bed, land on the carpeted floor with a small creak, and wrap my long arms around his torso. "Thanks so much, Trance!"

He smirks and pats my head awkwardly a couple times, his arm obviously half-blocked from my own. Whatever.

"Connie, you and Gloss would look super good together," Tempera comments from the bed, the glossy pages of the magazine nearly pressed to her nose. "I mean, honestly, you guys have a matching pair of abs."

"Tempera!" I protest.

"Whoa, whoa, Constance has abs?" Trancer questions Tempera quickly.

"They're so defined. I dunno how she gets them! My belly's always been, like, this pudgy." Tempera stands up and pinches the lower half of her misty grey tank top.

Trancer gets an evil look in his eyes and before I know what he's doing, I'm on the ground and he's trying to get a glance at my stomach. Most girls would find this totally invasive of their space, but Trancer's basically an older brother to me so instead I simply cackle- not giggle, my girly giggle is terrible- and attempt to throw him off me.

Finally he gets a good look of what he tackled me for and rolls over. "Not that defined," he comments quirkily.

"Thanks so much for wrestling me to the ground to make that deduction," I grumble good-naturedly.

Trancer lifted his eyebrows in fake hurt and started to say something when Tempera gasped and pointed to the clock, her wrist shaking a bit. "Oh my God, there's only a half hour left before the Reaping! I have to go get ready!"

"Throw on a pretty dress, put on some lipstick and run out the door. Perfect."

"Trance-errrrr," Tempera giggles, flipping a lock of hair over her shoulder carelessly, "You really flatter me sometimes."

Trancer raises an eyebrow, but before he can say anything I stand up and give each of them a shove. "You. Two. Out. Reaping. Now. BYE!"

**Rosary Hayes, 44, District One escort**

"Are you ready for this year, Rose?"

I peer over my thick purple and white striped glasses at Cashmere, who loftily yawns and sips her thick brown coffee. "Quite ready, thanks," I snap snippily. "It's my first year in District One, I'd have to be brainless not to be ready for this."

"Right, you knocked Wanda right off her high horse!" Gloss, the victor's brother, claims with his arms outstretched. "Glad you did, Rosary. She was a bit, how do I say, obnoxious and too fashion-intoxicated to understand anything revolving around her."

"I know," I reply stiffly, not exactly wanting to badmouth her but agreeing with the young victor.

"The doors take forever to open," Gloss tells me knowingly as I tap my finger cautiously against the thick door that will open into the square.

"I _know_ that, Gloss. I've done other districts."

"Right," Gloss agrees, his cheeky smile evident. "You were stranded with Eleven for a couple years, then moved down to Five. You stayed there for one year, same with Four, then you came to Two for three or four years. You sure did move _fast_."

"You memorized my district sequence?" I marvel with wide open eyes.

"Sure. Do that with every mentor. Wanda, for example. Why, she was a quick one as well. Twelve had her for three years before-"

A blond Avox taps my shoulder, signaling the opening of the doors. Gloss shuts up and rejoins Cashmere in the victor line. From each side of the door, silent Avoxes pull on heavy ropes that slowly open the gigantic doors, letting in blinding light.

I, glad for my glasses, adjust my sparkly wig and strut to the awaiting microphone and the two glass bowls that are full of white slips. A giggle can't help but escape the imprisonment of my mouth.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome!" I chirp, holding the microphone close to my mouth. "And here we are for the District One Reaping of the seventy-first annual Hunger Games!"

After I announce the Treaty of Treason and that wretched, endless video plays, I turn back to the bustling crowd. "And now… we pick our tributes!"

I stroll over to the male's bowl and root around, searching for just the right white slip, when suddenly peace is disrupted. A brunette female with a very nice red and orange pantsuit stands at the edge of the stage, a smirk painted onto her beautiful face.

"Constance von Trapp," she speaks calmly into the microphone. "Girl tribute, that is."

My mouth agape, I watch as she methodically struts over to the girl's Reaping bowl and stands there, seemingly guarding it. I can hear the female side gasping and complaining loudly. _Is this even allowed? What will happen next?_

Meanwhile, on the male's side, there is shouting and whooping going on…. A lot of it, too. "HURRY UP AN' GET THE SLIP!" one screams, his face red.

My ruby red lips pursed, I pluck a white sheet from the top. _Andrew Thompson_.

"An-"

"I volunteer!"

The booming voice comes from the eighteen-year olds. Above all the shrieking and pushing to get to the stage, my eyes lock onto a very muscular man with steely, determined emerald green eyes.

"You there," I call out, pointing to him. "In the sky blue shirt."

His face breaks into a tremendous grin and instead of desperately-needing-to-be-Reaped perspiration, it's now victorious sweat that collects in a thin sheen on his forehead. Cheering, the boy darts through the pool of eighteen-year-olds to take the steps two at a time. Once up, he snatches the microphone- rather rudely- from my clutch and announces broadly, "Bruce! Brucite Gergeon!"

He then shoves it back into my hands and rolls up his shirt sleeve. Constance rolls her eyes and lets out a low groan, as if knowing what will happen next. Yes, it does. Brucite flexes his muscles, a luminescent beam crawling across his face.

"Looks like we have a winner in this district!" I reported proudly to the screaming audience. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

**A/N: Cue the screaming fans! Lights, cameras, action! The first Reaping chapter has been posted! *Gasp***

**Alrighty, people. So far I've picked out most of the tributes, except I'm still deliberating on a few. Here we have them so far—**

**District One-**

**Male- Brucite Gergeon **

_**Bruce, a muscled man with a wicked ability to swing maces, has volunteered. Will his vainness work in his favor, or, like most, will the odds never be in his favor?**_

**Female- Constance von Trapp**

_**The murderous female from District One went calmly up to the stage before the girls even began to be Reaped. Few know what happened to her sister, but she shrugged it off. Her intelligence is strong, but is her will?**_

**District Two-**

**Male-**

**Female- Serafina Aegis**

_**After recovering from a very rocky relationship, Serafina's icy and unemotional nature will be tested when the arena shoves her around for yet another adventure.**_

**District Three**

**Male- Arthur Augustus**

_**Although never diagnosed fully, Arthur's ADHD has never brought him down. If anything, it's made him more chipper than anything. Will the broad beam on his face fade once he rises on the arena plate?**_

**Female- Alessandra Balis **

_**Alessandra's better than everyone, and she knows it. After all, it wasn't her fault that she had to be relocated to the run-down neighborhood of Three. Her training as a District Two girl might just come in handy…**_

**District Four-**

**Male- Percy Brizo**

_**Percy hasn't had a particularly hard life. There's always been the sea. Girl problems? Swim in the sea. Reaping issues coming down hard on his best friend?... Well, the sea can't solve everything.**_

**Female- Coral Fisher**

_**Leaving behind Kai, her brother, was hard enough. Having to be one in the most respected alliance will take this sweet girl some getting used to.**_

**District Five-**

**Male- Alister Rain**

_**If he doesn't come home to Talon, she'll murder him again. His drive to win is so desperate and deep it keeps him up at night, gripping his bedsheets with his palms sweating madly.**_

**Female- Lux Sephina**

_**Lux has never been the outsider. She's always had enough to eat, a warm bed, and loving parents. That was then, and this is now. And now is the Reaping. **_

**District Six- **

**Male- Francis Theroux**

_**Oddball. Loner. Artistic freak. You name it, Francis has been called them all. His prophetic visions don't help the matter that is now his own hell. A mixture of unpleasant traits, this male will do anything for his art.**_

**Female-**

**District Seven-**

**Male- Ben Mchon**

_**Young Ben is, to say this lightly, a lazy one. Although his physical is overall not hard-working, the cogs in his brain spin quickly. Maybe the arena is just what he needs to get back on his feet.**_

**Female- Leaf Ender**

_**Leaf was an accident. The orphanage battered her around so her ribs show prominent as chicken bones and her emotional tendencies increased as an effect. Will the arena provide a calming period for her?**_

**District Eight-**

**Male- Camo Russo**

_**Though never seen without a gum bubble slowly extending outside his lips, this boy is not quirky or hipster. He doesn't fit into any label, actually. He's more like… trapped.**_

**Female- Willa Seamstress**

_**Willa's a born leader and she's NOT afraid to say so. Her outspoken nature, though admired by many, is sometimes a bit much. Will it get her far in the arena?**_

**District Nine-**

**Male- Cohush Nigrum**

_**The son of a healer, Cohush has seen it all- decaying bodies, dead women, crying men… All of these painful sights will never have prepared him for the bloodbath known as the Hunger Games.**_

**Female- Jinx Tesatsu (Either this district or Six, on the fence)**

_**To put this bluntly, Jinx is a sadist. Cue the gasps of horror, the confused faces. She knows you hate her already…. Why else would she be a cruel, murderous sadist that has only felt hate, never passion?**_

**District Ten-**

**Male- Nubu Chandlers**

_**Nubu has a secret and he's not trusting anybody to keep it. This boy is always in a cloud of mystery that shrouds him closer than a warm robe, yet his kindness beams through as a ray of light.**_

**Female- Savanna Poppet**

_**Quirky author Savanna's life flipped upside down when her not-so-secret crush Elijah Bruno was Reaped for the 68**__**th**__** Hunger Games. She saw what it did to him and now, at 18, she'll have to endure that hell as well.**_

**District Eleven-**

**Male- Bark Umbral**

_**Sure. Call Bark antisocial. If you do, you'll get a flurry of fists from his protective best friend, Murray. But not even Murray can protect Bark from the fate that draws him into the arena.**_

**Female- Nessa Aoki **

_**She's observed everybody and everything. Conspicuous, one might say. Reserved. But now she's been thrown upon a pedestal for the entire region of Panem for watch her every move.**_

**District Twelve-**

**Male- Surtr Kayhiv**

_**Touch-sensitive with a knack for befriending. A huge heart with a shriveled trust organ. Bubbly and loving, yet covert and neurotic. Surtr's a mixture of all things bad and good. Or so it seems…**_

**Female- Annabell Berry**

_**Selfless Annabell the "failure" is put to the test when she is Reaped. Her world doesn't just turn upside down, it does insane backflips and angry rampages. And yet Annabell keeps mum.**_

**There we go! Basically, all we need is a District Two male because I have a friend who will hopefully submit the Six female. If not, I'll create a character…. Mwahaha!**

**Review Questions (Reviews let me know if you're reading or not. The less you review, the earlier your tribute dies!)**

**Which tribute stood out to you more? Why?**

**Which top five tributes, based on their really short descriptions, sound most interesting? Why?**

**What top five tributes stand out LEAST to you and why?**

**Taking a vacation to the sunny state for a bit. B) I hope to get submissions for the guy from Two and perhaps the Six girl soon! ^-^**


	3. 2 Like Yesterday

_**Still I will risk it all,**_

_**Just you wait and see.**_

**Serafina Aegis, 18**

"Clara?" I ask my friend, cocking my head just the perfect amount so I can apply a bit more clear lip gloss. "You're gonna volunteer with me this year, correct?"

"Of course. We do every year."

"Right." I select my trusty white fencing helmet.

"Your tone… it sounds sort of _off_." Clara smirks, adjusting her fox ears.

"I don't know if I really want to, this year. Volunteer, I mean."

"But it's all you've always wanted, and there is barely a chance you will get picked. Our escort is such an idiot anyways."

"I understand," I mutter to her, my eyes flickering to the floor in doubt, "and my father would murder me if I didn't try to volunteer."

"So much _drama_, Serafina."

My eyes wander over to the archery area, where my twelve-year-old sister is angrily seething, picking off high-range targets madly. A couple spectators (there never are many at the bow and arrow section) applaud quietly. Her auburn hair, frizzy yet somewhat contained, splays around her shoulders like a lion's mane. She bares her teeth angrily.

"Check out Bellona," I murmur to Clara.

"Looks like a spunky little spitfire," my hazel-eyed friend comments.

I roll my eyes playfully. "Get your helmet on, Clara."

She complies and we each grab our foils- fencing weapons, for the inexperienced who have never fenced. Facing each other, we count down together- "Five, four, three, two, one!"

Clara starts off with a rough jab to my shoulder, but I easily parry it with my hilt. "You've lost your touch, old lady!" I shout from behind the mask as I make a stab for her torso, knocking her off balance.

"As much as I'd like to protect your feelings, I'm just gonna tell you the truth," spits Clara, her face hidden by the alien-like fencing helmet. "You play so dirty, my lewd brother would ask you to fence!"

I raise my eyebrows, hidden to her. "Nice one," I comment, clenching my fingers tighter around the foil's handle. "But not as nice as the victory I'll taste when I win."

"As _if!_" is all Clara replies, obviously heating up. Her movements are jerkier, her actions less controlled and more instinctive. When I aim for the center of her chest, she flails back and lands on her back.

We duel three or four more rounds, two more of them ending in my victory. Clara wins the last one simply because I'm out of breath. I partly let her win to boost her self esteem just a bit, as well.

"Nice rounds," she compliments me as we hang up our foils and obsess silently over the epees, fencing weapons used mainly for the more experienced fighters.

"Yeah… you too." The tools are fabulous, the hard metal enriching them glimmering in the bright Training Center lights. My eyes well up, not with sad tears but tears of desperate longing. I _so_ want to fence with those.

"S'pose I'll see you at the Reaping. Get there early, we want front and center seats!" Clara warns me before flipping a lock of hair over her broad shoulder and flouncing off.

My eyes wander over to the katana section, another area I tend to visit. Standing there in front of the biggest display is… him._ Cassius Troy_. The very man who I had entrusted my heart to. He's showing his muscles off to a group of giggling sixteen and seventeen-year-old females. Obviously he's set his sights on younger girls now, as once Hestia (my EX-best friend) broke up with him finding him to be a lust-filled monster, he probably decided that eighteen-year-olds were too decisive.

He looks up, a twinkle flickering in his turquoise eye. He winks openly, and two or three playgirls, with their lips pursed angrily, see me and make rude gestures.

I curse at them loudly, my icy eyes never leaving the small herd. Cassius smirks and rolls his blood orange sleeve down, beginning to stroll over to me.

I rush over to the archery section, a bit desperately. My sister Bellona is still there, her eyes blazing. Several arrows and two bows litter the ground, obviously cast away in anger.

"Bellona, time to go."

"No."

Furrowing my eyebrows, flaring my nostrils, and clenching my fists all in one, I stamp over to her, yank the bow out of her hand and throw it to the wall (where it shatters rather musically) and rip the quiver off her shoulder. The strap gives a huge screech and it splits along the carefully sewn seams.

"Serafina," growls Bellona, her temper darkening quickly. "You'll pay for that."

I smirk at her evenly, knowing that at only twelve when she's older she'll become a reclaimed fighter. Unless, of course, I volunteer. Then nobody can touch her but me, and I'd never allow her to enter the Games. Anything to keep my _baby_ sister safe.

The walk home is brief, with lots of cussing and cursing under her breath on Bellona's part. I try to keep her under my control by grabbing the scruff of her black turtleneck roughly, yet she pulls away easily. We (well, I) stop at a breakfast cart, which, like most around Two, has cheap sandwiches and such on sale for this very special day. I order an egg-on-buttered-biscuit with some mysterious mustard, and for Bellona I tell the man for a slice of toast with sausage links scattered on top, sprinkled with jalapeno pepper flakes. Bellona deserves a nasty surprise.

Once I chase her home, I shove it into her hands and nearly trip over Aries, her cat. Aries was a gift from Clara, of all people. Basically, the story is that Aries didn't get along with her own two cats, so it was a charitable act to my misfit little sister. He only gets along with Bellona and nobody else- not my elder brother, not my parents, not even Clara anymore. Quickly finishing up my own breakfast, I dart upstairs to my room.

Choosing out clothes has never been the highlight of my day. Normally for me, it's a tight, sold colored tee (once in a blue moon, it will have stripes on it) and pants that allow me to move around. Shoes are basically black sneakers or black boots, each with a thick rubber grip on the bottom. I also allow myself to wear jewelry on days I do not go immediately to the training center, such as elaborately done silver necklaces or topaz stud earrings.

But today, of course, is different. This is a year I just might volunteer. The other six years I was like most other girls for Two, the ones that weren't insane with the idea of volunteering- staring dejectedly, bored, at the stage, waiting for the dope that would eventually go into the deathcage.

This year, though. I think I seriously could have a winning shot.

That, and my father would force me with terrible threats if I even showed the _slightest_ bit of not agreeing to do his bidding.

I shake my head and select a mustardy yellow skirt. Ugly. I sift through the contents of my closet until I find my favorite, dark denim skirt. Unfortunately it has become too small and short, not even sliding up my slim hips. Sadly it joins the pile consisting of old or ugly clothes, the yellow skirt included.

Over a longer period of time the pile grows. Onto it is added a "retro" magenta pair of slacks, a too-short silvery skirt, a navy cashmere sweater with a plunging collar, and three pairs of Bellona's leather jackets. _How did those get there?_

In the end, I finally choose an elegant periwinkle blouse, a ruffled white skirt, and a pair of powder blue pumps. I decide against them, as I'm going to need to dash up to the stage if I really want to volunteer. Instead I slip on a pair of white, flat-bottomed boots that reach just above my ankles.

As I examine my appearance in the head-to-toe mirror, a smile flashes briefly over my chin. I know that if I really tried, I could be beautiful.

If I tried.

**Slate Bessarion, 17**

Ryker grins as Caesar and Claudia pinch each other roughly, the front yard growing with their shrieks.

"Every morning's like this, ain't it?" he jovially asks.

"All the time," I grumble. "Honestly, Mom should have just stopped with me."

My shaggy-haired friend, still smiling faintly, shrugs. "I dunno, Slay. They could be good contenders one day."

"And die in the bloodbath," I sing out.

Ryker watches as they stab each other with foam swords. "Hard to believe they're only eight. You teach 'em this, Slay?"

"Nah, they just watch the TV."

We leave the Victor's Village laughing.

Yes, I know. Dad's a victor, still top of his prime. His name is Dax. Around sixty years old and still hasn't fallen victim to alcohol, morphling, or any other truck like that. I try not to make it known to people, otherwise they focus on him and his victories instead of me.

"Ready to train?"

Two hours later, we're both panting heavily as we course down a race-track with four other teenage guys, each neck-in-neck for first.

The white finish line in sigh, I sprint forward and throw myself over it. Ryker follows my lead and collapses on top of me.

"D'we make it?" I wheeze.

"And in first place, Slate Bessarion!" Ryker announces playfully, his red face slowly diminishing to tan.

We jog back to our bags to grab some water when my phone buzzes. "Hang on," I mutter to Ryker, checking the smooth glass screen. Amazing… this is Artemis, my girlfriend who disappeared for nearly nine months!

"Artemis? God, I've missed you SO much! Where've you been?" I begin to choke up and Ryker leans in intently to try and eavesdrop.

The small voice in the phone is weak, scared, and somewhat shaky. "Slate… you're a father."

"_Graaa," coos Deyanira, her small pinkish head growing redder as Artemis tried to force a little mashed squash down her. "Booooo."_

_Artemis, her straight brown hair tied up in a messy (yet somewhat shabby-gorgeous) bun, heaves a thick sigh and shrugs. "Slate," she complains, "Can you try to feed her? She doesn't listen to me."_

_I smirk, taking the plastic spoon from her hand and bending over the crying child. I scoop up half a spoonful of not squash but crushed strawberries, and immediately Deya's brown eyes focus in on those. Her pert pink lips part to allow the berries entrance. _

"_How do you do it?" my girlfriend asks in awe as I feed Deya more and more. _

"_Much practice," I purr, leaning in for a kiss._

If only that could happen now.

I stare numbly at Artemis, whose face is blushing desperately. Deya is fast asleep, head resting on her shoulder.

"I'm a father?" I repeat.

"Don't take this the hard way," sniffles Artemis. "I didn't want to… I mean, when I disappeared… Slate…"

I gnaw on the piece of wood protruding from my mouth rapidly until it's reduced to a mass of stringiness. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

My girlfriend's puffy pink eyes gaze back at me sadly.

My eyes flicker to the breathing being that is resting on her torso before I declare loudly, "I'm volunteering. I'll come back and we can start anew together."

"Slate!" she gasps, tears flooding her doe-like velvety eyes.

"No if's, and's, or but's," I tell her in a hushed tone. "I'll come back. Victorious. Deya, you, and I, can live together and we'll be richer than anything. I have to."

"Can't you wait until next year?" her voice cracks.

"Deya needs to be taken care of now." My hand strokes along the soft skin of the infant's ear. My face hardens with steely determination, set by paternal love. "I love you too much not to."

Artemis glances down at the napping baby, then back up to me. "Promise me," she whispers quietly, "if you do get in… you'll win."

"Promise."

**Valeria Powers, 27, District Two escort**

I'm well known as the youngest escort around. There might be another from an outlier district, but they don't matter until they've gotten at least into Five or Four. Anyways, back to me. Youngest escort around and definitely the perkiest. I have seen the ups and downs of District Two and of course lived to tell about it. I'm native to this district. On a field trip to the Capitol I became _very_ interested in this business and decided to pursue it.

And that, of course, is how I'm standing– well, rather, sitting– here today. I'm sitting quietly, much like a sweet little mouse, just watching the Treaty of Treason video. Not the best one, I'll admit. I definitely could have created a better one. But who am I to complain?

The final musical chord ends and the sorrowful voice that narrates it dies down. Wonderful! Eager to begin, I jump up from my chair and nod at the two mentors- Enobaria and Brutus, who was brought back because the most recent victor other than Enobaria turned to alcohol. They each nod back, Enobaria baring her fangs at me a bit.

I skitter over to the microphone on my toes and speak with barely contained excitement into the microphone. "Now we draw the lucky, wonderful tributes from District Two! As usual, we'll go ladies first."

My hand goes into the girls' Reaping bowl and immediately there's a rush coming from the seventeen and eighteen year olds. An eighteen-year-old from the front dashes up the stairs, nearly tripping when a girl snatches her shoe.

This girl is _abnormally_ beautiful for her district with long chestnut hair that rivals mine and icy blue eyes. "I volunteer," she says at last after staring at me with hardened irises. "My name is Serafina Aegis."

"Wonderful," I trill, beaming widely at the female. "Now let's pick your wonderful district partner!"

Into the bowl goes my long orange and pink nails, and out of the sea of boys comes lots of shouts, grunts, and hollers, each trying to run the gauntlet eagerly. One overpowers the other, his black pompadour the most striking thing as he mounts the stairs to the stage.

"Slate Bessarion," he pants, smoothing down his cream sweater and gnawing on… a toothpick. Wonderful.

"And here we have Slate and Serafina, your _wonderful_ tributes for District Two!" I'm ecstatic with joy as I dig my high heels into the ground. "Would you two shake hands?"

Serafina wrinkles her nose as she accepts Slate's overly exaggerated movements. I can tell that she's not used to males- or perhaps just dislikes them?

Whatever her reason, I can tell that this year is going to be absolutely _wonderful_.

**A/N:**

**Like Yesterday by Luke Conard.**

** Aaaaaaand there we have it. Thanks to BamItsTyler for wonderful Slate Bessarion, and I'm very sorry to the other submitters that sent in Two males… to be honest, I connected with most of them, but some just didn't work for me. I narrowed them down, and finally decided on this one. Sorry, again.**

**And if I type the word "wonderful" one more time my fingers will fall off.**

**ANYWAYS. We have a full set of tributes. Here they are one more time, this time completed!**

**District One-**

**Male- Brucite Gergeon **

_**Bruce, a muscled man with a wicked ability to swing maces, has volunteered. Will his vainness work in his favor, or, like most, will the odds never be in his favor?**_

**Female- Constance von Trapp**

_**The murderous female from District One went calmly up to the stage before the girls even began to be Reaped. Few know what happened to her sister, but she shrugged it off. Her intelligence is strong, but is her will?**_

**District Two-**

**Male- Slate Bessarion**

_**A newly chosen father with experience with kids… Slate's not your average guy. He'll do anything to benefit Artemis and little Deya, even if it means sacrificing himself in that arena.**_

**Female- Serafina Aegis**

_**After recovering from a very rocky relationship, Serafina's icy and unemotional nature will be tested when the arena shoves her around for yet another adventure.**_

**District Three**

**Male- Arthur Augustus**

_**Although never diagnosed fully, Arthur's ADHD has never brought him down. If anything, it's made him more chipper than anything. Will the broad beam on his face fade once he rises on the arena plate?**_

**Female- Alessandra Balis **

_**Alessandra's better than everyone, and she knows it. After all, it wasn't her fault that she had to be relocated to the run-down neighborhood of Three. Her training as a District Two girl might just come in handy…**_

**District Four-**

**Male- Percy Brizo**

_**Percy hasn't had a particularly hard life. There's always been the sea. Girl problems? Swim in the sea. Reaping issues coming down hard on his best friend?... Well, the sea can't solve everything.**_

**Female- Coral Fisher**

_**Leaving behind Kai, her brother, was hard enough. Having to be one in the most respected alliance will take this sweet girl some getting used to.**_

**District Five-**

**Male- Alister Rain**

_**If he doesn't come home to Talon, she'll murder him again. His drive to win is so desperate and deep it keeps him up at night, gripping his bedsheets with his palms sweating madly.**_

**Female- Lux Sephina**

_**Lux has never been the outsider. She's always had enough to eat, a warm bed, and loving parents. That was then, and this is now. And now is the Reaping. **_

**District Six- **

**Male- Francis Theroux**

_**Oddball. Loner. Artistic freak. You name it, Francis has been called them all. His prophetic visions don't help the matter that is now his own hell. A mixture of unpleasant traits, this male will do anything for his art.**_

**Female- Jinx Tesatsu**

_**To put this bluntly, Jinx is a sadist. Cue the gasps of horror, the confused faces. She knows that you hate her already… Why else would she be a cruel, murderous girl that has only felt hate, never passion?**_

**District Seven-**

**Male- Ben Mchon**

_**Young Ben is, to say this lightly, a lazy one. Although his physical is overall not hard-working, the cogs in his brain spin quickly. Maybe the arena is just what he needs to get back on his feet.**_

**Female- Leaf Ender**

_**Leaf was an accident. The orphanage battered her around so her ribs show prominent as chicken bones and her emotional tendencies increased as an effect. Will the arena provide a calming period for her?**_

**District Eight-**

**Male- Camo Russo**

_**Though never seen without a gum bubble slowly extending outside his lips, this boy is not quirky or hipster. He doesn't fit into any label, actually. He's more like… trapped.**_

**Female- Willa Seamstress**

_**Willa's a born leader and she's NOT afraid to say so. Her outspoken nature, though admired by many, is sometimes a bit much. Will it get her far in the arena?**_

**District Nine-**

**Male- Cohush Nigrum**

_**The son of a healer, Cohush has seen it all- decaying bodies, dead women, crying men… All of these painful sights will never have prepared him for the bloodbath known as the Hunger Games.**_

**Female- Alexis Tress**

_**Once she's put her sun-streaked hair in her signature high ponytail, Alexis will be ready for anything. Anything used to mean her studies, focusing on wheat production, and boys. Now it means surviving in the harshest arena yet.**_

**District Ten-**

**Male- Nubu Chandlers**

_**Nubu has a secret and he's not trusting anybody to keep it. This boy is always in a cloud of mystery that shrouds him closer than a warm robe, yet his kindness beams through as a ray of light.**_

**Female- Savanna Poppet**

_**Quirky author Savanna's life flipped upside down when her not-so-secret crush Elijah Bruno was Reaped for the 68**__**th**__** Hunger Games. She saw what it did to him and now, at 18, she'll have to endure that hell as well.**_

**District Eleven-**

**Male- Bark Umbral**

_**Sure. Call Bark antisocial. If you do, you'll get a flurry of fists from his protective best friend, Murray. But not even Murray can protect Bark from the fate that draws him into the arena.**_

**Female- Nessa Aoki **

_**She's observed everybody and everything. Conspicuous, one might say. Reserved. But now she's been thrown upon a pedestal for the entire region of Panem for watch her every move.**_

**District Twelve-**

**Male- Surtr Kayhiv**

_**Touch-sensitive with a knack for befriending. A huge heart with a shriveled trust organ. Bubbly and loving, yet covert and neurotic. Surtr's a mixture of all things bad and good. Or so it seems…**_

**Female- Annabell Berry**

_**Selfless Annabell the "failure" is put to the test when she is Reaped. Her world doesn't just turn upside down, it does insane backflips and angry rampages. And yet Annabell keeps mum.**_

**QUESTION TIME! xD**

**Which of these two tributes stood out to you more? Why?**

**Do you see any alliances forming based on the tributes personalities?**

**Which 5 tributes are you completely neutral to and why?**


	4. 3 A Fool's Dance

_**Who am I? Who are you?**_

_**Who are we anymore?**_

**Arthur Augustus, 16**

Yawning, I casually roll out of my quirky orange and blue duvet. With a thud, my lumbering body falls onto the hardwood floor and I let out a shriek.

My little sister darts into my room, adjusting her lavender frames around her huge eyes. "Arthur? You okay?"

I smile up blearily at her. "Fine, Rhiannon."

"Don't call me that," she mutters, tucking a lock of perfectly straight blond hair behind her pert ear. Perking up a little, she says crossly, "You're up late. Two hours, to be exact."

"Really?" My eyes grow comically wide and I dart over to her, sliding on my flannel-pajama-covered knees. "Oh, please, Rhia! I'm so terribly _sorry_ that I have betrayed you by waking up late!"

My sister knows when she's being mocked, and she sure doesn't like it. "Breakfast is on the table," she huffily replies, slightly implying that I'm, again, the village idiot. "Fried eggs and toast. Eat up before it gets cold."

I slump back onto the floor and watch her tiny form strut out quietly. Once she's gone, quickly do I shut and lock my door. My arm scrabbles for the familiar roll of paper that I know will always be there, waiting.

Somewhat stealthily, I spread it over my dust-covered desk and pull out a pencil from the drawer. My eyes study over the sheet and, like clockwork, slowly shade in a couple circles. It's _nearly_ perfect, yet it still needs _something_. I really don't know where I'd get this final item, as we sure don't have any in our house… unless Rhiannon is maturing more than I thought. Well… come to think of it, I guess we have some. But my mother is not somebody I take objects from to do things like this.

I carefully etch the outline on the corner of the paper, my eyes constantly straying away from the paper. Each time this happens I force them back on, but seconds later my hand begins to quiver insanely and my brain begs to do something else.

This has taken months to plan because of my 'disability,' and every time I do something else I regret it later. As today is the Reaping and I sure could be Reaped (tesserae has been plentiful around this house all the years I have been in those bowls) I might not have another chance to plan this. Taking a swig of carbonated water, I avert my eyes to the large scroll in front of me. I make sure that they don't stray to the small figurines that parade around my desk. No, that would not be good.

Suddenly an idea springs into my head and it's welcomed by my tangled array of thoughts. Celinia. Of course.

With great care, I enclose a rubber band over the blueprint and gently push it under my bed. I throw on a random outfit- a red plaid flannel shirt and my average grey pants- and skitter down the stairs like I'm on a caffeine rush.

"Eggs on the table!" Rhia mutters as I dash past.

Mother and Father make me sit down and choke down a couple bites of bread and an egg before I can leave. They're so strict with me. It's obvious that they don't admire my jittery spirit, but they clearly favor Rhiannon over me. Although this development sometimes gets me down, I always brighten up when I see them. I truly do love them, despite this fact.

Celinia's house is not too far away from mine- in fact, it's right across the street. Her grumpy grandfather opens the door, and as usual he asks in his creaky voice if I'm planning any 'hanky-panky' with his granddaughter. As always, I respond with a bright, "No, sir! Just a bit of _fun_, if you know what I mean." and a wink, then I march past him. Ah, do I ever love our routine.

I find my friend arguing with her parents. Her tall form towers over them, and it's obvious that she will win this small battle of words. I lean against the doorframe of the living room and observe this quietly.

"Mum," Celinia says in a barely reserved tone, "I had to. Ever since Dad lost his job there's barely been any food in the fridge. You have to have noticed that, Mum."

Her mother, a short lady with a mess of red curls on her head, growls and spits something out before storming to the kitchen, giving me a wild nod as she scoots past.

Celinia's father looks at her, then her daughter, before sighing heavily and lumbering outside.

"What was that all about?" I ask Celinia as she flops down on an armchair.

"God, Mum's all upset because I took two things of tesserae. It's not like I'm taking, say, seventeen or anything like the other people at school."

I offer up a crooked smile. "You could've said that I took out five this year only."

"Don't you think I mentioned that?" she sighs, running long nails through her silky red hair. "Whatever. It's all said and done, anyways."

I nod, glancing to the grandfather that still looms eerily by the front door. I turn back to Celinia.

"Your grandpa is stalking us."

"He's just worried you'll try to kiss me or something," she grumbles, hopping up and guiding her grandfather to the bathroom. "Grandpa, try to get those figs through your system." Yuck.

"I need something," I tell her in a hushed tone once she sits back down.

"Yeah?"

"Do you, by any chance, have a… ahem…." I blush and whisper the words to her.

"Um…. Sort of personal there, Arthur."

I grin loopily. "For a prank. What else?"

Celinia beams once I say that, always a supportive fan of my tricks. "Oh, sure then! Who are you pranking?"

"My parents. I've been planning it for months."

"Wow. Is this, like, the final piece of the jigsaw puzzle?"

"Jigsaw puzzle piece, conductor wire to a light bulb, the seventh day to a week," I singsong. "Virtually, yep!"

An hour later, I nod to Celinia, who's crouching behind my sofa. "Ready to witness the best prank in the history of jokes and madness?"

"Ready," she replies eagerly.

I clear my throat dramatically before shouting out frantically, "MOM! DAD! RHIA! COME _QUICK_, GUYS!"

They rush in so quickly, I have nearly no time to pull the cord.

Out of a wicker basket above their heads dumps exactly seven bags of white flour (found in the bin behind the bakery), two cartons of eggshells (from my eggshell collection), a couple squirts of vinegar (from our pantry), and nearly an entire drawer full of female undergarments. Rhia skids on the butter that I have slathered generously over the floor, coming to a stop just in front of me.

"_ARRRRTHUUUUURRRR_!" she shrieks, plucking an eggshell from her hair. "I JUST GOT MY OUTFIT ON!"

Still I smile good-naturedly, offering up a moist towelette.

Celinia can't stop laughing.

**Alessandra Balis, 15**

"Christof? Are you doing alright?"

"No," my brother chokes out, his laughing easily consuming his ability to speak. I smirk from behind my coffee mug.

"Did you tell him another joke, Sandra?" my mother's small brown eyes fixate on me and I feel like a deer in headlights. I know that my mom does not approve of my telling Christof jokes, not when he's supposed to have had a strict upbringing.

"Erm…" I stall for time by pretending to cough on my coffee. "Wrong… (HACK) pipe…. (COUGH, COUGH, COUGH,)… need…. Water… GAG!"

Mom puts her hands on her hips, eyebrows joining together in the middle. "I expect you to tell me the truth," she tells me quietly.

"I was choking, Mom! Seriously!" I protest, hoping this argument doesn't sound weak to the one I want to impress- Christof.

"Say you _were_ choking. There's no coffee left in the coffee mug."

I peer down into the cup. She's right. There's just a bit of sugar that remains in a tiny mountain on the bottom, the granules melting together at a snail's pace. "That's because I drank it all as I choked."

We get into this long fight about how I need to tell the truth. Stop lying. Nag, nag, nag, nag, nag. It's always like this. My mother and I have never been very close, and this is almost the only time we talk– when we argue. Not the best relationship, I'll admit. Once nineteen-year-old Christof gets his own house I'm totally moving in with him.

Eventually she lets me go after I apologize around sixty times. Delighted, I convince my big brother to take a walk in the forest behind our house.

Sunlight peeks through the high, twisted branches of the trees. I gaze up at it fondly, watching the yellow beams shine onto the grassy ground. This forest is one of just a handful in Three, where any signs of plant life is pretty rare. There was a rumor that the house we moved into was actually haunted, which is how Mom got it on the cheap.

Let me explain something here. I'm actually a native to District Two, not this power plant district. I trained just like other kids, with fencing and throwing knives and all that stuff. For some reason that has yet to be explained to me, all of a sudden we packed up and left. I never even got to bid farewell to my one true love, Ryan Maxius.

Ryan was everything I wasn't. He was exciting, dangerous, and older than me. Whenever we went out I got a burst of thrilled adrenaline that rushed from the roots of my wispy blond hair down to the molars in my mouth to my perfectly kept nails to my small feet. I loved the sense of aloofness I got when we went out, the evil looks that other fifteen-year-olds gave me.

And there is _nobody_, n-o-b-o-d-y in this run-down district that could ever compare to that special guy! These boys are all geeks with acne and glasses. Ryan was handsome, with a deep brunette quiff and soulful chocolate-colored eyes that sparkled whenever we talked. The males here are skinny, with bony elbows and hairy legs. Ryan had muscles, abs and toned biceps. The guys here also don't have Ryan's amazing sense of humor. They think a technical fault is hilarious, while a slightly perverted joke is confusing. Ryan made the best jokes ever and always kept a person smiling, even if he had just dissed them.

Am I obsessing much? What can I say. Ryan was the best thing to ever happen to me, and I just _abandoned_ him!

He also was my only true friend. Well, he was more of a boyfriend, but still. Here I found Mae Long, who's bubbly and flirty just like me, except she's sort of a nerd like the rest in Three. Her raven hair is always matted and in a loose ponytail, while her mud-colored eyes have nothing but a dull sheen, like that of a copper pot.

_Me_, however. I believe firmly that I am the most beautiful creature ever to walk the streets of Three. I have blond hair that radiates light, similar to that of an angel's. my grey eyes shine like silver, with two perfect black pupils floating in each of them. My milky, pale skin is cream colored and very attractive. I'm also different in that I am actually muscular, not scrawny. Plus, I have a ton of freckles from being in the woods so much. Everyone else has yet to even get a tan.

Whoops. Christof's talking. I probably shouldn't admire myself so much.

"Alessandra, are you listening to me?"

"Yeah," I say off-handedly, picking up a leaf and pretending to examine all the light lime green veins that course throughout it.

"Would you please answer my question, then?"

I'm caught in his steely gaze with no idea what he's just said. "Um… my answer is no?"

He relaxes visibly. "Good. Tesserae is sort of pointless when we're this well off. Though it might seem like a good idea at the time, many tributes get picked from their tesserae slips alone."

"Right." He must have asked if I had taken tesserae. Well, my answer is a resounding '_never'_.

"Although when I was walking to my job the other day, I did see your friend… Mae, is it?"

"Yes," I say reluctantly, starting to nibble my lip.

"I saw her walking into the Justice Building. Now, if I didn't know any better, I'd say she was withdrawing some for her family. Crazy, right?"

"Pssh, yeah. Really crazy," I agree, lying to his face.

"So I waved her down. Said hello. You know, I was being all friendly-like."

"Kay," I reply, sweat beading on my brow rapidly. I continue munching on my lip.

"She said she didn't recognize me and ran in so fast I nearly saw smoke on her heels. Do you have any idea why Mae would act like this?"

"Why do you care?" I bleat out. "She's _my_ friend, not _yours_. Why do you, or, um, it's not your, um, what do you think, I mean…" I tend to get my words mixed up very easily when I'm heated up about something, and this was definitely one of those times.

"I care," Christof says quietly, "because she is your best friend and I thought I'd let you know that she was probably taking tesserae."

Mae's family flashes through my mind, and I blanche. Four little brothers, all of which were not even eligible to be in the Reaping. Two parents. All with hungry mouths that craved food, starved most nights because her mother lacked a stable job.

"She'd _never_ do that," I squeak out, gnawing on my lip repeatedly. It's raw by now.

"I _know_ what I saw. I think she probably was too _embarrassed_ to say hello because she was taking it."

"But… Mae… Christof!"

He offers me a weak smile before disappearing into the yard, leaving me standing dumbfounded, leaning against a tree.

**Phosphate Jaded, 49, District Three escort**

I ask for a good district and they give me _Three_. Um, ahem. Three is one of the worst districts. They've had four victors. Wiress, Beetee, and… um… two others. They both are dead. I forget their names. But they've had only four victors. Honestly, you might as well give me Twelve again. At least in Twelve it wasn't so _hot_ all the time. Here in Three, electricity is constantly burning, and smog clouds around the greasy, slimy town block. It's _insane_!

Eleven was worse, I guess. There are Peacekeepers constantly glaring at you menacingly, the odor of death that swarms the place, and the way the children always make you feel guilty when you call their name out, what with their huge, sunken eyes and unpleasant disposition.

Then there was the best district I've ever gotten, Seven. It smelled delightful, like a pine forest, and the air was always so fresh. Most of the kids that are Reaped are handy with an axe, which produces some mighty fine victors. I stayed there for six years until, without warning, I was downgraded to Five. Basically like Three, which is why I asked for a promotion.

Needless to say, this district is not a "promotion". I was expecting Four.

"You're on," Beetee says anxiously, his huge brown eyes blinking neurotically.

"I _know_, Beetee," I snap, smoothing down my dress slacks and adjusting my glittering top hat. "The Treaty of Treason has just ended. Therefore, of course I have to go up there, you absolute dolt! _Common sense!_"

The children in the crowd seem almost as apprehensive as I am. If I flub this up, I can kiss my promotion to Four, One, or even Two goodbye.

"Let's mix things up a bit and go men first," I call out in my deep baritone. The Reaping Bowl is ominous, glaring out at the sea of high-strung boys.

I pluck a slip from the top, eyes peering down slyly. "Arthur Augustus!"

A huge-eyed guy with fluffy brown hair from the sixteen-year-old section dashes up to the stage as if his life depends on it. As he runs, I hear noticeable sighs as the others accept that they have survived another Reaping.

"What did I win?" he asks eagerly as he takes the steps two at a time.

"Wha… what?"

"What. Did. I. Win?" Arthur grins cheekily, eyeing me up suspiciously. "There is a prize, right?"

I blink a couple times, certainly not expecting this display. "Well… you win a one-way trip to our fantastical arena, Arthur."

"Awesome!" he cheers, hugging me tightly. After this, Arthur begins to do a small dance consisting of many puffs of the chest and flailing of the arms.

"Arthur!" I hiss from my fake smile as I amble over to the female's bowl. "Stop that immediately!"

The face he makes next is so sad that Wiress and Beetee both glare at me murderously. I didn't even know that adults from Three could have expressions like that.

Still grinning widely, I traipsed over to the second glass bowl. This time, I plunge my arm in and swipe a paper slip off the bottom. "Alessandra Balis."

A girl from the fifteen-year-olds descends from the herd quickly. She stumbles a little on the steps, but manages to catch herself and even throw on a quirky, self-assured face. Unlike most of the children here, she has beautiful, long blond hair. Interesting.

I gesture to the two that stand, side by side, their faces each identical to that of a cherub. Well, nearly. "District Three's tributes, Arthur Augustus and Alessandra Balis!"

**A/N:**

**A Fool's Dance by Phillip Phillips.**

**Well, well, well. I really adore these two tributes. :-) It's time for… a short Author's Note! I don't really have much to say, except when I got off the plane, my ears still have NOT popped. So I'm a bit deaf until they do decide to. Hmph.**

**Oh, and by the way. I expect every submitter to review at LEAST every other chapter, otherwise you can wave farewell to your tribute. Not all the Reapings have started. It was part of the rules and guidelines! Honestly, if you're not going to even review every two chapters then I might as well pick somebody's who WILL review. Sorry for the outburst, I'm just sort of upset that only about a third of submitters are reviewing. But believe me, I WILL delete your tribute. :/ I'm dead serious.**

**QUESTION TIME (TO BE PUT IN YOUR REVIEWS!)**

**Which tribute stood out to you more and why?**

**Out of all the tributes, District One through Three, who has been your favorite so far and why?**

**Out of these tributes, which has been your LEAST favorite and why?**

**What do you think the arena will be?**


	5. 4 Little Talks

_**Some days I can't even trust myself**_

**Coral Fisher, 17**

The brackish water splashes up on my sandy feet and I heave a sigh, swishing my fingers around aimlessly. I hear him giggling, laughing as he falls back into the sea.

"Come, Cora! Come, come!"

I force a smile, getting him to giggle insanely. Kai.

"I have to go to work," I tell him softly, caressing his smooth cheek with my knuckles.

"Then we can play?"

Tears stain my eyes, and I blink them away. "_No_," I struggle with the word. "After work is… the Reaping. Right after work. I won't get to see you until after the Reaping."

Kai's face is conflicted, his intelligent eyes linking with mine and silently questioning me. "But I want to play." He pouts.

I breathe in heavily throughout my mouth, eyes flickering to the cliffs where I dive. "I guess you could come with me. I mean, it's not like your first time diving with m-me."

Kai applauds quickly, frantically. "_Yes_," he approves quickly. "I want that!"

I enclose his small hand in mine and, together in our matching black and teal wetsuits, we make our way up the winding cliff to meet Dad.

His extremely dark skin crinkles up into a grin as his eyes meet mine. I offer up a humble nod, and gesture over to Kai, who is currently licking a pebble inquisitively.

"Kai's going to dive with me," I say.

Dad immediately shakes his head. "He's just four," he protests. "Coral, what are you thinking?"

My tongue the texture of dry sandpaper, I quickly resort to throwing my hand protectively over Kai's shoulders. "He's been swimming for nearly three years now," I argue, my ears growing hot and my throat tightening rapidly. "and if he gets too scared he can easily back out. Come on, Dad. I've done this forever, and it's totally safe! I'll even dive with him if you want me to."

"But that's not safe."

"See?" I cry out triumphantly, beaming at Kai. "You said that me diving with him's not safe. But if we dive separately, then maybe-"

"Coral," my dad's voice thunders. "No means no!"

I freeze in the middle of my sentence, then peer over discreetly at Kai. His face is sorrowful, eyes casted down.

"Don't worry, bud," I whisper. "I'll let you dive with me, even if it breaks his rules."

Kai and I chill out, sprawled close to the edge of the cliff. We drink lemonade and have sardines for breakfast. Kai is very particular about which small fish he chooses to next eat, which makes me giggle a bit. The rotten or imperfect ones we toss over and watch for thirty seconds as it makes its descent into the diving water. Some lemonade occasionally gets sloshed over the edge, as well.

It's all so perfect, this distraction, that I don't think once about the Reaping. Not once.

Dad leaves after about an hour to check on the merchant section of the seamount, which is nearly a forty-five minute walk one way. Kai and I will have nearly three hours if all goes well.

Once his bobbing head and quirky tan fishing cap is out of both our sights, my brother immediately begins giggling and clapping. "Dive, dive!"

"Are you sure you want to? It's a long ways down, and you'll have to go in the pike position. You remember that, right?"

"Yes," the chubby-cheeked boy says solemnly, his sea green eyes peering over the salty lagoon. "In arms, in legs."

I'm guessing that that means 'fold your arms in close to your torso, straighten your legs, and point your toes to face the sky'. "Good. Do you want to go separately or together?"

"Both." 

"Kay, then," I tell him, cracking a smile. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah!"

We stand, about three feet apart, backs facing the water. I lean backwards first, and Kai follows a bit hesitantly. For seconds we're reforming our limber bodies in the pike position, and we each let out long yodels of cheer. Kai's hair ruffles in the wind, as does mine, and suddenly I'm deep underwater. My outstretched fingers barely graze the sand and mud mixture at the bottom before I flip over and propel myself up. My eyelids snap open and I see Kai repeating this action.

The glassy surface breaks with a quick splash, and I gasp for air, which welcomes me. I wait for Kai to resurface, and eventually he does. He takes a quick nip of oxygen before pushing himself back under, where he plays on and on and on for so long.

I float over to the sandy lagoon's coast and pretend I'm being washed up shore. My hair grazes my elbows. My eyelashes and eyebrows all have tiny granules of sand woven in from the dive, and I bring a hand up to wipe them away.

If only today wasn't the Reaping, which I so dread.

**Percy Brizo, 17**

I usually can rely on the sea for anything. If I have girl troubles, I swim out and the water answers all my questions. If I'm in a feud with my best friend, I idly trace circles in the sand until it tells me solutions. But telling him and my family about volunteering? Heck, that's going to take a lot more than the sea to fix.

Well, come to think of it, I've already told my family. My dad in particular was the one driving me to volunteer. He was rather happy when I told him I'd try- but no guarantees- to make it up to that stage. Inwardly I sort of hope that the escort will skip over me. But I know that with my "dashing" looks, as my mother puts it, I have a better chance than many.

I just don't want to leave here, the beautiful place of Four. I mean, it's heaven here. Every morning I wake up to find the curtains billowing in a sea breeze, smell the salty air bristling at my nose, watch the green waves foam up on the sandy tan shore and retreat into a bed of foamy white. Routine, basically. I know that every day the waves will smash onto the coast, and the wind will whistle through the planks of our house, and that there will be brackish air running everywhere. I know that.

Aside from just the scenery alone, the people here are so diverse. I mean, really different. There's not just the average ones, like dark-skinned, wiry tributes from Eleven or almond-shaped eyes and pale skin from Three. I guess you could say that our "average" tribute has emerald eyes, tanned skin, and tousled brown hair. I guess you could say that. But in reality, there's a whole new planet here that you have to explore. There's those who are so tan that they appear to be brown-haired people from Eleven. There are those with freckles coating their faces, so they are polka-dotted-skinned. There are those, like me, with salty brown hair and cheeky smirks. There are also the "sirens"- _vixens_, I call them- with straight blond hair and dimples. And then there are the ugly fishermen with large front teeth and red skin, with sagging cheek skin and loose arms. The unpleasant to look at.

And if you need more description on why Four is heaven… Just look around! There are peaked seamounts owned by one family, a family per mountain, that have bustling trade and amazing economies. They arrive by ferry and leave, happy. There are inns and markets, parks and beaches on those mounts. My biggest dream ever is to own one, but sadly I don't believe that would ever be fulfilled. My family's not the _richest_, per say.

But that will all change if I win; all I can hope to do is keep a positive outlook on the situation.

"Percy! _Percy_!"

"Mom?"

"Come downstairs! Your father wants to talk to you."

I descend the crooked driftwood-planked stairs quickly, my eyes dashing furtively between my two parents. "Yes?"

My father raises his chin haughtily. "You are volunteering this year."

I sneak a peek at my mother, who's currently dabbing at her eyes with a periwinkle handkerchief. "I… I am."

"So you've decided, then?" my father nods twice, curtly. "Good. Off with you, then. Leave."

"Jake, the boy hasn't even had breakfast!" my mother lets out a short cry, lightly patting my shoulder. "Come on, Percy. I have leftover fish stew and fruit for you."

I take my usual spot at the picnic table on our patio, the one that looks out to the gnashing, changing aqua waves. Bowls of assorted fruits, like she said, and a ceramic pot full of greying trout stew lie in front of me. I pluck a few red grapes from a dish and roll them around my fingers absentmindedly.

My mother rushes out from the house, scampers down the stairs to meet me, and says quickly, "Your friend is coming over. Grover. I'll have him out here, for a warm meal with you. Heaven knows what that boy eats, bless him!"

I shrug, popping the circular fruit in my mouth. "Sounds cool to me, Mom."

Minutes later, my lanky blond friend is stuffing himself full of strawberries dunked in syrup, smacking his lips and proclaiming how wonderful it is. "I don't have stuff like this at my place. For me, it's always rice, rice, rice, and herring, yellowtail, perch. Anything we catch, plus rice and milk. Nothin' else! I tell you, Perce, you people have the life."

"You're chatty today," I comment blatantly.

"Aren't I always?" he chuckles nodding his head frantically, causing his thick-rimmed glasses to fall in his bowl of fish stew.

I reach over and fish them out, cheeks reddening slightly over what I'm about to tell him. "Are you going to volunteer?" I stall.

Grover stares up at me with wide eyes. "Totally not!" he screeches in a strangely immature voice. "Percy, you'd have to be half insane to want to go in the Hunger Games. I mean, you could die!"

"Right…." Feeling especially bad now, my throat twists itself into a complicated knot and sits there. I wipe his glasses off on my brick red shirt carefully.

"Um… Grover?"

"Yeah, Percy?"

"I'm volunteering today." Before he can say anything else, I jump up and begin shouting, overcome by amazingly fierce emotion. "It's not me, it's my dad. He's greedy, Grover, and he thinks I can win and we'd be so frigging rich that he could buy tons of seamounts and create this huge business empire, but really he can't and you and I both know that, but I so want to get him off my back and just-" I pause to gulp down a lungful or two of air- "want to live my own LIFE!"

Grover stares at me, creating this feeling of black betrayal, and I don't trust myself to say anymore. I swipe at my eyes with my sleeve and begin blowing on a spoonful of hot fish soup.

Finally, after what seems like seventeen eternities, I hear his familiar voice, crumbling. "Remember the pact?"

I cast my eyes down at the bowls of fruit and stew. Yes, I remember the pact. We made it when we were younger, twelve or thirteen at least. It was a very hot day of the Reaping and we were here on my patio. Grover was cramming himself full of breakfast- broiled haddock and fruit, if I remember correctly- and I was desperately gulping down cold tea in an effort to freeze my insides, which were cooking.

I remember something happened, like I joked that I would volunteer or something. Grover, younger than me by a year and not quite fully understanding that this was humorous, leapt into this great big speech about how that arena would be the end of all of the tributes but one, and that one would be a cold-hearted murderer who would die alone. I remember he took this dead serious.

I also recall that he pulled out this crinkly cream-colored, blue-lined paper and began scrawling a note out on it. His handwriting eligible, yet somehow I knew exactly what it said. He made me sign it. We both stabbed our fingers with a safety pin and pressed them to the paper, creating a few small red dots. That pact, signed with blood, said that never in the future of our friendship would we volunteer for the Games.

And now here I was, four or five years later, saying exactly the opposite. Grover, still a kid at heart, of course would take this the wrong way.

"I remember," I croak out.

He looks at me with strangely savage eyes. "Good."

He leaves, then.

**Periwinkle Medium, 32, District Four escort**

Feeling the humid air rush over my exposed skin is so refreshing. The smell isn't the best- like burnt fish and damp metal- but it doesn't matter… much. It's much better than the outlier districts. I'm actually quite lucky to have Four for the third time in a row. It's always in demand.

I pat my excessively curly hair, scanning over the sea- get it?- of anxious children. I see some good contenders in there, yes. There's a fierce-looking girl with lustrous blond hair tied up in a messy bun. Her eyes, green like most, glare at the screen that's presenting the Treaty of Treason. Her hands clench the velvety rope that separates the crowd from the stage.

There are four or five boys in the eighteen-year-old section with bulging muscles, obviously just waiting to shove weaklings out of the way. Currently, they're laughing obnoxiously, not at all paying attention to the presentation. Oh, well. Once I coach one, he'll be perfect!

I watch until the credits fade out, and with shaky arms I clumsily pat the newest victor, Annie Cresta, on the crown of her head. She recoils quickly, her eyes huge and frightened. She tugs at her light pink dress to make it cover her knee, and with a comforting arm Finnick Odair rubs her shoulder.

Touching, really.

Holding my head high, I strut to the microphone. I bat my glittering green eyelashes for the crowd as I speak with my sweet, suave voice- "Ladies first!"

There actually doesn't seem to be a rush of girls this year as I reach my hand in. Even as my fingers fold around a white slip, still they stay there, staring. I bite my orange lip. Surely they're being polite little lambs, waiting until I read off the name. That must be it.

"Coral Fisher." What a terribly common name.

Obviously shocked, a girl with silky brown hair emerges from the seventeen-year-old section. She looks around at all the females surrounding her, who only stare back with menacing smiles or sympathetic expressions. She climbs the steps to the stage, her eyebrows drawn together in worry and fear.

"Well, then," I say, taking in her put-together appearance. "Coral Fisher, everyone. Now for the boys."

This time there's a bit of a tussle to get up the stairs, even before I announce "Wyatt Andrews." There's a race between a guy with spiked brown hair and one with a lanky body form, but suddenly the spiked hair tumbles to the ground on top of the divider and the lanky boy hops up the steps to the stage eagerly.

"Percy Brizo, aged seventeen," he proclaims brazenly, his smile widening each moment he speaks. What an eager boy!

"District Four, you have your pair! Coral and Percy!" I wrap an arm around each of their shoulders- Percy's muscular, tan ones and Coral's quivering but strong ones. "We may see yet _another_ victor!"

**A/N: **

**Little Talks by "of Monsters and Men". **

**I liked District Four. Sure, Percy seems a bit like Percy Jackson. I know. But I figured if people think that, I could totally prove them wrong… I think. Percy's not a hero or anything, just a boy with no extraordinary talents. I know he'll surprise you in training. You have to wait and see why! :-)**

**Coral is wonderful as well. Oops, I'm turning into Phosphate the Three escort. xD I thought Coral's form was amazing from the second I started reading it, and swore then and there I'd use her. She really outdid my expectations. **

**I had a tough time picking this lyric out of all the good ones in "Little Talks". These are all my honorable mentions-**

**- "There's an old voice in my head that's holding me back."**

**- "Soon it will be over, and buried with our past."**

**- The screams all sound the same."**

**- "You're gone, gone, gone away, I watched you disappear. All that's left is the ghost of you."**

**- "Some days I feel like I'm wrong when I'm right."**

**QUESTION TIME! I'd appreciate if you guys actually did the questions, haha. :) Just sayin'.**

**Which tribute stood out to you more and why?**

**What were your thoughts on each POV?**

**Do you approve of the song choices so far? Why?**

**Have you/will you look up any of the songs? If so, which ones? :)**

**My mouse is back to being suckish, so that's why I didn't use italics for Percy's little flashback. Too strenuous, sorry. :[**


	6. 5 Let Them See You

_In every breath I breathe I sing a simple melody_

_But I pray they'll hear more than a song in me_

**Lux Sephina, 15**

"_How old are you? Tell me the truth!"_

_I stare at the man with wide eyes. "Seventeen," I choke out._

"_You're lying! You're not a day over fifteen!"_

"_I'm telling the truth!" I scream._

"_Take her family and that boy away! NOW!"_

"_NO! You can't take Aeol and Array! Take me, but not them!" I fly into a rage, clawing his exposed skin with my long nails, my sepia hair billowing around my shoulders. "You can't take them away! NEVER!"_

"_Lux!" Aeol's screeching, and all I can see are his large chocolate eyes that will haunt me. _

"_Your friend's not seventeen, is he? IS HE?"_

"_He is!" I shriek out, reaching for my friend. "Sir! You can't take them, please!"_

"_LUX!" screams Aeol at the top of his lungs. "LUX! LUX!"_

"_AEOL!"_

"Lux?"

My eyelids snap open, and I find my mouth wide open in a scream. My forehead, damp, hurts like hell. I press two fingers to my temple and exhale slowly to calm my thundering heart. I let my eyes stray up to see my friend, his light skin evident in the faint moonlight. "Aeol," I say, clutching his hand close.

"You were screaming. Woke Array up, too."

"Sorry," I sigh, casting my eyes down at the thin blue blanket that covers my petite body. "Where is he?"

"I heated up some milk and he's in the kitchen, drinking it."

I rub my eyes. "What time is it?"

"Nearly four."

"I definitely can't go back to sleep," I murmur, staring into Aeol's hardened brown eyes.

"Want me to stay in here with you?"

"Yeah."

Aeol snatches Array's small white and purple blanket and begins making himself cozy on the floor when I touch his wrist gently. "You can come up here, if you want."

It's weird. Aeol's not a brother to me, yet he seems so much like one. So much _more_ than one. There's nothing romantic going on, heavens no, but… something else. It's like we're in the most intimate relationship you can be in, without being girlfriend-boyfriend. We've known each other so long, in a bond closer than siblinghood.

So why was he just camping out on the ground?

I ask him this and he shrugs nonchalantly. "Didn't wanna freak you out," he replies.

"You wouldn't freak me out," I say, leaning back onto my pillow, feeling his bulky body next to mine. Array shows up at the door, eyes huge. He's holding a glass of steaming milk.

"Want anything to drink?" he asks Aeol and I.

"I'm good," I mutter.

"Same, little buddy," Aeol agrees.

For the next few hours my eyes won't close no matter what. Even pinching them shut with my fingers only ends in my eyelids springing back open, so I give up. Staring outside isn't so bad, actually. I mean, sure. I'm staring at a metal wall of the building next to us. But at least this street isn't littered with murders and crime or anything.

Array and Aeol play with a simple deck of playing cards- pinnacle or some game like that. Every time Array gets something good, Aeol high-fives him and cheers. That makes me secretly grin under the cover of my blanket.

Around six-thirty I shuffle down the hall to our dining room that doubles as a kitchen. Actually, it's not much. There's a thin card table with four mismatches chairs scattered around it, and old stained placemats placed upon it. The kitchen is nothing more than a mini fridge, a stove with half of the burners not working, a wine cooler that we use as an ice box, a few feet of counter space, a sink with running water, and a couple rickety old cupboards. At least there's food in them.

Except not today. When I swing them open, I find only dry pasta, some tea packets, crackers, and dried fruits. Not my type of breakfast. In the fridge I find a tin of day-old soup, a couple eggs, and half a carton of milk.

"I'm off to the store, so I have to get dressed," I tell the two boys. "Leave."

Hands held up in defense, Array trails after Aeol.

I slip on a pale, eggshell blue dress and a white cardigan. The buttons are missing, but it looks fine without them. The dress brings up memories for me, memories that must have been stashed away in the farthest corner of my mind. Memories of my parents, how my mother got this for me when we were wealthy. Before the accident.

They both died saving the lives of half of the population in a nuclear power plant leakage. Dad, they say, drowned in oil. Mom was lit on fire and burned to death. Not the prettiest deaths Five has seen, that's for sure.

Once they were dead, the money disappeared. I think it went to pay for unpaid taxes and mortgages for our mansion, but I'm still unsure. Only a small portion came to Array and I.

We lived in the children's home for a while, but obviously that cost a lot for us. The children were nasty, and since we had money we had to pay for everything. Food, our hot water, bedding, toys. I'm pretty sure it was illegal, but I never would have told, of course. I always keep mum on things such as that.

We met Aeol on a trip to a power plant, the very one my parents died in. He felt so much sympathy for us, and somehow we became friends. He told me that he never trusted anybody that much. Ever.

With our money combined, we paid for a small four-room house. The bathroom was three by three feet, with a tiny shower and sink. The toilet blocked the closing of the door completely, so I always go quickly. The one bedroom is slightly bigger, each with ample room for two cots and then a bit of floor space. It has a closet, too, which is useful. Half is full of my possessions, and the other half is of the boys' clothes and Array's few toys.

The other bedroom was made into a living room. We hauled in a sofa found on the curb, and although it has a foul smell it's not that overpowering. We also brought in a glass coffee table with a shattered corner and out of sheets I sewed curtains. And then there is the dining room/kitchen I mentioned previously.

Saying we were seventeen and taking care of our little brother, we moved in. Although I definitely don't look seventeen, Aeol could pass for a late teenager, which is probably what allowed us to move in.

Speaking of Aeol and Array, I have to go to the store.

**Alister Rain, 17**

I hear a yawn from the other side of the hall, look through the doorway to see her eyelids fluttering, and resort to simply _tugging_ the white button-up on. Anything to get out of the house before Talon wakes up.

It doesn't work, though. The blond girl awakens before I even have a chance to throw the shirt on.

"Alister!" Talon sounds surprised. "What time is it?"

"Um, eight," I lie. "Go back to sleep."

She swings her legs out of bed and walks down the hall to meet me. "Why are you getting dressed in the hall?"

"I didn't want to wake up Colton."

"I'm already awake!" a small voice pipes up from the staircase. I peer down in surprise to see the kid hopping up the steps, a Cheshire grin already on his face. "I woke up two hours ago, Alister! I don't sleep in." he spits out the word like he's swearing.

"Yeah," I reply, eyes darting at Talon nervously, "but… your bedsheets made it look like you were in there."

Colton wrinkles his eyebrows together. Lately, he's taken to sleeping on the floor for reasons I don't even know. I'm starting to think that the kid has OCD. "Kay," he chirps out, catching onto my white lie. "Thanks for the thought."

Talon shakes her head, resulting in a flurry of pale hair tickling my skin. "Whatever. I'm making us breakfast." I nod my assent and watch her leap down the steps.

Colton eases up the stairs and looks at me, a crooked smile on his face. "Why were you lying?"

"Who said I was lying?"

"Dude, you're like, the worst liar ever. Period."

Rolling my eyes, I lower my voice to a whisper. "I was going to leave for a, a walk."

"Oh, FUN!" Colton responds loudly, sarcastically. This kid is good at seeing through lies. Sheesh. "May I please ACCOMPANY you on your walk, ALISTER?"

I shake my head. "Er, sorry, C-Man. Not today."

"Then tell me what you're really doing or I'm telling Ja-ames," he wheedles, running a hand through his buttery blond Mohawk.

I try one last lie. "I need some new shoes, and if Talon knew I was shopping for footwear she'd go insane. You know that, Colt."

Colton tilts his head, his watery blue eyes piercing me. "I don't believe you. It obviously has to be forbidden or you wouldn't keep lying and changing your story."

This guy has got to be the most intelligent kid to walk District Five.

"Fine," I grumble. "I was going out to take a couple tesserae slips. I didn't want her to find out."

"Well, how many do you have so far?" Colton asks, immediately accepting this.

"Um… I'm seventeen, so that would be… forty-eight, I think?"

"DUDE!" screeches Colton, his face growing red. "How have you not been Reaped yet?!"

I make a sour face.

"Just put two or three on mine!" he cries. "I only have ONE, Alister, honestly!"

"I can't do that, Colt," I mumble. "Talon would kill me."

"Talon's going to kill you once she finds OUT that you're nearly at fifty slips!" Colton shrieks. "I don't want you to get picked, either!"

"Shut up, Colton," I say crudely, the first time I ever said something harsh to him. His mouth created an open O and I took this opportunity to fly downstairs.

The tesserae place in the Justice Building wasn't that hard to find, since I've already been here four times this year, each with two slips. Times have been tough. Last week I signed up, but they didn't have enough supplies for the increasing demand, so I was told to come early today.

I find my name on the counter- Rain, Alister- and snatch up the cardboard boxes, each containing the food that will keep us alive for a bit longer.

On the way out, there's Talon.

She takes me in, then quickly storms over. "ALISTER," she seethes, "were you just taking TESSERAE?!"

"Talon, I can explain!"

"Fine, then. EXPLAIN."

I let my eyes wander around as I fish for an answer. "Um, money's been tight. Right? So, um, I've been taking tesserae slips. It's been feeding us."

"That's where all of them came from? How many do you have?"

"_Yeah_," I say a bit too enthusiastically. "and you've been making all these great meals with them and they've been delicious! It's so perfect, right?"

"Alister," Talon begins in a low voice, "how many slips of tesserae do you have?"

I swallow.

"Counting these?"

"Yes."

"….Fifty."

What happens next was actually rather violent, so I'm not explaining in detail. Basically, Talon scratched me a lot. I bled a lot. And she fled. It…. It wasn't the prettiest sight, especially in the Justice Building.

I walked home to find her not there, so I handed the boxes to Colton. He accepted them eagerly and opened a box to find the grains. He started pouring himself a bowl of tesserae cereal, with one for Lisa his little sister as well.

I brought a slice of tesserae bread slathered with butter to James, who was sitting in his wheelchair glumly. He was paralyzed from the waist down in the same thing that killed my very parents, and lots of other factory workers who were at the plant as well. "Did you take tesserae again?" he muttered, his twenty-year-old face haggard.

"Um. Yes. Talon… she got mad."

"How mad?"

"She gave me these cuts." James looks up from his book with a start to see me. He immediately dips his head down low to meet his hands.

"She's my little sister, Alister."

"Yes."

"You came to live with us, after your parents died, just because she begged me to let you stay with us."

"Right." I'm growing uneasy with every word he says.

"Why would you cause her this pain? She obviously loves you, Alister-"

"_What_?"

"That's right, and she's waiting for you to feel the same way. Obviously. It's scaring her half to death that you're entering yourself more and more in this, this, this DEATH match. And anyways, if you loved her back you wouldn't be this cruel to her feelings."

"I tried to hide it, James! I tried to leave before she woke up! She nearly murdered me because I tried to hide it all these years."

James looks away. "Thanks for the bread. See you later, Alister. After the Reaping at _least_."

Gritting my teeth, I comply.

I know where Talon goes when she's upset. There's a small patch in the woods two streets over, where two rivers meet and it's all perfect. There are a couple fallen logs that serve as benches, and there's a fruit tree or two. But right now, I'm only toying with the idea of leaving to see her. Just because she's so mad. I don't want to cause her any more pain.

But, reflecting on what James said, I eventually choose to go. She is my best friend. The least I can do is _try_ and make her feel better.

I stumble over many curbs as I walk to the woods, mainly because I'm too distracted to look where I am walking. I'm terrified. Talon can be intimidating when she wants to be, even though I used to think not. But that was then, when she was an innocent little sugary sweet girl with platinum blond hair tied back in a sweet little pigtail set and wore printed jumpers. Now she's a not-so-innocent teenager with platinum hair usually chopped short, and it's curly. And the jumpers are history. All her wardrobe ever is these days are tank tops and skinny pants.

_Quite_ the difference.

The woods ahead appears ominous, and I feel tiny compared to its majesty. Swallowing hard, I step foot just inside its foliage-covered carpet, bringing up crunchy applause.

Through the sunlight that peeks through the trees, I see Talon.

Before she has any time to see what's coming I attack her, throwing my arms around her and lavishing her with tickles. Snorting with laughter but yet trying to remain dignified, Talon lashes out with her nails, bringing fresh pain to my injuries.

"Talon," I gasp out, examining the marks. "Stop."

"You attacked me first," she spits out. "Did Colton send you? James? Lisa?"

"No. I came on my own."

She glares at me, but within moments she's downright sobbing. "I…. so…. I'm…. Alister!"

My eyebrows thick and heavy, I stare at her until she explains herself.

**Scotch Cronhumus, 36**

"District Five, huh? You got the bad district, huh? I'll bet you wanted Two, or even Four. But noooooo, you got stuck with our suckish little district of Five."

"Stop it," I grumble, eyes flickering to the taunting girl next to me. She has flaming red hair not unlike my own. Like many females in Five, she's really pale. But she shouldn't be. She's a victor. "Don't you have better things to do, Kassidy? Than to taunt the escort that brought you victory?"

"Ha!" the girl flips her silky copper hair in open defiance. "No way. You did nothing except stare at yourself in that stupid little pocket mirror, making tiny kissy faces at yourself, while I slaved away at those spiked maces just because my _mentor_ told me so. And then you told me to tie a noose. For myself. You helped me _nothing_."

Flaring my nostrils, I look away. "I've been stuck with these people for six years now. The least they can do is promote me to Four."

"SEE!" Kassidy is triumphant. "I knew you wanted Four. The people there are _sooooo_ much better behaved, huh?"

"Even Eleven would be better than being stuck with you for the sixth year straight, Kassidy," I retort. "Now if you'll excuse me, you and Tuesday have to find your seats."

"Tuesday's a hag," she says off-handedly. "I liked my mentor better. What did Tuesday's mentored kids do? They all die in the frigging bloodbath. At least last year, I got Zelda past it. Tough fighter, that one. But, like most District Five girls, it all ended when she got her intestines ripped out brutally by the One male."

"That didn't _really_ happen," I bleat quickly, glancing back at her. "Did it?"

"You should know!" Kassidy's in hysterics, and quiet Tuesday, who just joined us, looks on solemnly. "You _escorted_ her!"

"Scotch, Zelda was the eighteenth to die. Last year was the arena of the many beaches. Zelda was killed by a venomous snake," Tuesday pipes up.

"Thank you, kind mentor," I bat my very manly purple eyelashes at her. Glancing over at the glowering Kassidy, I snap, "See? Somebody here is nice."

Ten minutes later it's time to Reap some kids.

My hand descends gracefully in the bowl, fishing around for the perfect slip that will be our female tribute. Like clockwork, my hand closes around one and I pull up, peering at it.

"Lux Sephina!"

A girl visibly gasps and her face goes white. I motion for her to come up to the stage hurriedly. "Chop chop, Lux, we've not all day."

She's average height with regular looks, just like all the rest of the kids here. She has mousy brown hair and a timid expression, which vaguely amuses me. As Lux shakily makes her way up, I rapidly announce,

"Now for the _men_."

My hand swishes around a little bit before landing on a white paper, and this name is a bit of a mouthful. "….Alister Rain!"

A seventeen-year-old boy lets out a huge breath of air that can be heard even on the stage. Offering me a stage-weak smile, I walk him tremble as he wanders up to the stage.

Disapprovingly, I look at them both. They're just your standard tributes, nothing special. Darn.

It looks like District Five won't have a victor this year.

**A/N: **

**Let Them See You by Colton Dixon.**

**Well, well, WELL! Your first Colton song! How about that? I didn't even know that it corresponded with the Colton in Lux's life until afterwards. How funny, huh? :-) Are any of you Colton Dixon fans out there? **

**Alrighty then. I suppose we'll mosey on over to the questions, since I have **_**nothing**_** to say.**

**QUESTION TIME.**

**1. Which of these two tributes stands out more to you? Why?**

**2. Which song lyric has been your favorite so far? Why?**

**3. Which escort has been your favorite thus far? Why?**

**4. Which of the upcoming tributes are you most looking forward to and why?**

**5. If you're not a Colton fan… will you look his songs up? :D**

**6. How was my writing?**


	7. 6 The Monster

_**You think I'm crazy? That's nothing!**_

** Jinx Tesatsu, 17**

That's it, I've had it. I just can't go on in this low district, I can't.

I have to escape.

Nibbling on a half piece of burnt bacon, I peer out into the rainy, seemingly empty and abandoned skate park. I can't take any chances; this is the only safe way home. Peacekeepers have been on my trail for ages, asking around if anybody has seen the "District Six sadist". Of course, when I was questioned, they held me for a bit longer than others. Something in their eyes made me skittish, and I suppose I freaked a bit.

Nothing could make me go back to answer their "questions" after that. I knew that soon I'd be tossed carelessly into the prison like a rag doll. The Peacekeepers here have no respect whatsoever for District Six citizens.

Like me. Like Calico.

Speaking of Calico… where is she?

I shove the rest of the greasy, overcooked meat in my mouth and stroll out, savoring the misty haze that swishes just off my skin. Rain, in my opinion, is one of the best things created. I love the appearance, taste… _smell_….

Especially the smell.

It can cover up any other scent.

Like blood.

Blood.

Images of last night sift through my mind, and I shudder.

"_I'll see you tomorrow, Jinx!" Calico called, her soft blond hair swishing behind her as she strutted out of the park._

_I waited till dark, when the moon glared just a little onto the soft, grassy grounds. Soon clouds formed, and it was nearly jet black. It didn't bother me, though. I could see in near pitch darkness without complications._

_The old bell tower hummed in the distance, and frogs creaked as a soft precipitation began to drizzle down. It moistened the play area, my hair. Everything not covered it attacked in rabid little droplets. Hungry for their next victim that would be their meal, dripping down eagerly to gain more._

_Rain._

_A cheery whistle pierced through the quiet rushing of rain, and I squinted to make out the image of the park ranger, closing up for the night. Her expression blank, the keys on her belt jingled jovially as she searched for the certain one to close up the gate._

_Then she noticed me._

"_Hey, kid! What are you doing out? It's twelve at night! Get out an' go home already!"_

_A fierce anger surged through my veins. This woman thought she could just boss me around like I was nothing but a mere child._

_Let's see how childish she thought I was after I was through with her._

_Slipping a hand inside my jacket pocket, my slender fingers folded around the handle of a knife. Running, charging, I knocked the startled woman to the ground. She began hollering, terrified._

"_KID! What the hell are you doing? Get off of me! HELP!"_

_Baring my white teeth, I smirked. "It's twelve at night," I hissed. "Nobody can hear you scream."_

_Not caring to waste any time, I quickly made a couple incisions with expertise- a few on her face, two or three on her neck. Just teasing her, letting her know that the greater pain was yet to come._

_Her shrieks were fading with each time I tugged the knife across her skin. Her attempts to push me off were weakened. Blood trickled slowly from each cut, and she was now breathing in shallow, ragged breaths. "Kid," she muttered, "why are you doing this?"_

_I couldn't tell her. It wasn't something I could explain well. It's just the inane thirst to hear another human being begging for mercy, the ripe sound that flesh makes when it's opened oh-so-delicately. The sheer terror in my victims' eyes, the screams that die slowly on their lips. For me, this is just a lifestyle._

_I wasn't always like this._

_I got into this nasty business at age ten, in a fistfight that soon turned to knives. The girl, inexperienced and frightened, was easy to overcome. Since then, my urges have been harder to quell. I've settled to simply torture, nothing like death. I'm not a murderer or anything, just a… a sadist. And I can't help it. It's like some people can't help being incredibly talented at dancing or being known for their kindness. But my personality is much more sour, not desirable or likable at all. _

_Giving the woman one last slit on her nose, I got off from my death hold on her. The woman moaned and turned over. Good, she wasn't dead._

_Not for now, anyways._

I dart across the park, eyes flickering everywhere. The skating and playground materials are dripping with dew and rain, but the empty half-pipe is stained with blood.

It was on the news this morning that a park ranger was found brutally sliced up. One piece of evidence was the fringe of black jeans, with just a bit of blood stained on it. The Peacekeepers were on the hunt, and anybody found with any evidence of the crime would be forced to notify them. Questionings would begin after the Reaping.

That's when I knew that my fate was sealed, that I'd definitely be found out. I'm pretty sure I'm the only person around this area that wears black jeans. How could I have been so… _careless_?

I see a familiar mop of blond hair and instantly trot over to her.

"Isn't this so _scary_, Jinx?" Calico mewls. "And to think we were the last ones here before she got all cut up. It's like, déjà vu!"

"Not really," I mumble. "How's it déjà vu?"

"There have been so many torturings around our neighborhood, all right after we went to that same place. Like, when we went to Carly's party a couple months ago, the next morning she was found in her bed, all sliced up. I wonder why somebody would do this…"

A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth, but I force it into a sympathetic look, for Calico's sake.

"Right. Poor Carly. I heard that she's still recovering."

Calico and I met on one of my torture trips. We were fourteen. It was late at night, and she was dashing back to school to grab her history textbook to study for exams. I knew who she was- Calico Fledge, the slightly dumb classmate who had incredibly huge midnight blue eyes.

_The night air was crisp like a Macintosh apple. If only there was a person coming back, one with skin as tight as an apple to be pierced by the knife…_

_I hear the faint sound of footsteps coming from the direction of the streetlight, and I duck behind a hedge to try and make out who it is._

_Calico Fledge, a girl with fluffy blond hair and gigantic blue eyes was looking around neurotically, her head swiveling from left to right, was trotting down with her hunter green backpack slung on her shoulder. I heard her gulp as she rattled on the doors of the school, making a noise of impatience when they didn't open._

_It was go time._

_I slunk out from the shadows, my bare feet barely even making any pattering noises on the asphalt. My breathing was light; my face was shielded with my jet black hair hanging loose in tendrils around it. Nobody would be able to recognize me, later._

"_Who-who is there?" Calico trilled in a shrill voice as she whipped around. "Who is it? Oh my God!"_

_I tackled her, pressing her bony shoulders to the pavement. She let out a whimper of fear, eyes huger than ever. _

_Something stopped me. I don't know what. Maybe it was mercy, maybe it was pity. To this day I'm not sure why I did not let the blade trace idly around her milky white skin. I shoved the knife back in my pocket and stood up carefully, even grabbing her hand to help her up as well._

"_Sorry," I muttered, scratching the back of my head. Trying to make light of this situation, I commented brightly, "You can't be too careful with that sadist running around, right?"_

"_Right," Calico responded, a bit too enthusiastically. "I was terrified… what's your name?"_

"_Jinx?"_

"_Jinx! Right. I was so scared I was gonna die, honestly."_

_A cold smile inched its way across my chin. "Never. Why would he or she attack an unarmed fourteen-year-old girl?"_

If only Calico knew.

**Francis Theurox, 14**

I gaze around the amazing infrastructure of the room, taking in the marble arches and the velvety red curtains that hang yards and yards long, descending gracefully from curtain rods near the ceiling. My eyelashes flutter as the mansion owner's Angora cat tries to capture my shoelace in its tiny, furry paws. Mammals were never my favorite things to paint. If I didn't paint abstract art, I'd spend all my talent on painting houses, shapes, and turtles, which rather fascinate me. Funny things, turtles. Did you know that when provoked, a turtle–

"_Francis_." 

I look up to see my mother, her lips pursed in disdain. "I've been talking to you for the past five minutes. I'm guessing you didn't hear a word?"

"Not even a syllable," I confess.

She crosses her arms, gesturing to the broad-set woman in front of me. "Mrs. Malone wants you to paint her a garden scene, eight by six feet. The theme should be red. There, that's about it in a nutshell, isn't it?"

"Nearly," Mrs. Malone declares, swishing her thick black hair behind a shoulder and scowling at me. "I'd like a couple rabbits hopping around the scene as well. Rabbits and cats. If you need to, I have a series of cat sculptures around the house for you to take home as inspiration. Not many cats wander the streets of Six, especially not with that dreadful sadist running around."

"I know what a cat looks like, Mrs. Malone," I reply.

Her glare darkens. "Not just any old flea-bitten, scruffy old cat. An Angora, much like Mitzy here." The fluffy white feline starts purring like an old machine revving up, strutting over to her master. "I expect there to be a bounty of Angoras in the picture."

"A red-tinted garden scene with rabbits and Angora cats stalking around?" I repeat.

"Yes, you heard correctly." Mrs. Malone glances at my mother sideways. "Your boy's not the sharpest tack in the box, Mrs. Theurox, but he isn't completely dumb."

My eyes wander back to the lavish room, taking in the sweet scent that drifts around the room of rose petals. Gilded furniture lies in some sort of arrangement- feng shui, if my memory serves me correctly, like the time I visited Mr. Thomas, the mayor of Six. Very superstitious, that man. When we sat down for tea he searched his drawers for one certain spoon, with which he stirred his earl grey precisely twice to the right, thrice to the left.

"Francis! What do you say?"

My eyelids fly up, and quickly I rack my brain to try and remember what we were talking about. I fidget under Mrs. Malone's harsh gaze. "We were discussing the painting, right?" I mutter.

"Yeeeees," my mother draws out the word slowly.

Suddenly, the notion slams into me like a wrecking ball. "Are you wondering how to paint?" I chatter rapidly, already bouncing up and down just thinking about the familiar smell of paint that I've grown to so love. "I can teach you! If you need a basic art kit, I'll lend you one of my old ones. It's not the best, but there's basic primary and secondary colors in acrylic and a tinting guide, plus seven different brushes differing in bristles and width and all that good stuff!" A grin widens on my face as I dreamily go on, "If you like, I'll even lend you a tapestry- a splendid canvas that you can work on. Fabric may be a bit tricky to express yourself on, but once you have proper training it's easier than chewing and swallowing!"

I look up to see the disgusted face of Mrs. Malone and my mother, her hand smashed into her head, which is aimed at the floor, and who is shaking her head slowly. "Francis," she murmurs quietly, "I was telling you to say 'thank you'."

Embarrassed, I mutter out a half-hearted "thanks" and spin on my heel to go home.

Once we're out the door, Mother explodes in a wave of wrath. "I've told you to start listening more, Francis! What am I supposed to _do_ with you?"

Bewildered, I shrug a little and scurry along in front of her. "Sorry, Mom," I apologize quickly, "I just got a little caught up in talking about the finer qualities of art."

Mom glowers. "Three people in a weekend, Francis, all high-paying customers who will dish out enough cash to set you through eight years of college for one painting. All you have to do is pay attention and PAINT. It's not that hard, honestly!"

I hang my head solemnly, still skittering along nervously. "Um, OK."

**Skeleton Maurice, 28**

"So what do you do it for, is it like, shock factor or something?"

"Would you shut up?" I muster up as much sweetness as I can, feeling insane. This isn't a past victor to me, it's like a Reaped tribute that's such an optimist, trying to make the best of everything. It's true, after his Games that Dalton lost all sense of sanity and resorted to thinking like an eleven-year-old boy permanently. But he's the only other victor Six has had besides Gingham Cleaver, a skittish morphling addict with sagging magenta skin and emphasized hair colors.

"Dalton," Gingham moans from the sidelines, obviously not dealing well with the morphling withdrawal. "Just… just pay Skeleton some attention, alright?"

"You're one to talk!" Dalton retorts, throwing his flowing brunette hair back with a defiant toss of his head. "You don't have to, why should I? I'm not that much younger than you!"

I scratch an itch on my pale skin with a long black nail. "Dalton, this is my first year at District Six and I really don't want to spend it arguing consistently."

"Then TELL me!" Dalton bounces on his heels, taking in my raggedy coal-colored dress. "I just wanna know why you're dressed all scary and why your name sounds like a creepy monster!"

"Shock value, sure," I tell him, plucking a loose strand of black hair off my dress. "So… um… the districts see I'm a threat?"

"What's thaaaaat mean?" Dalton asks, his brown eyes huge with questions.

Gritting my teeth as to not lose my temper, I swipe a hand over my forehead where a thin layer of perspiration has started to form. "You're testing my patience, Dalton."

He gives a huff and crosses his arms, but immediately cheers up when he and Gingham are told they can introduce me to the crowd.

Dalton's Hunger Games, two years ago, were filled with blood and gore. The arena was a very sandy desert, one with rattlesnake muttations that bit and targeted vital organs. His three allies, the two from Seven and the girl from Eleven, were each killed in one of the biggest bloodbaths in history, where exactly seventeen tributes were murdered. The Career pack, as it was soon dubbed, gained three extra tributes- the girl from Eight, boy from Nine, and the boy from Eleven- because of their quickly-gained skills with different weapons such as katanas and picks. Wielding weapons was nearly impossible for the other tributes. Dalton was decent with machetes, and so at the bloodbath he dove headfirst into a pile of backpacks, staying there while the Careers picked off the other tributes. Later in the Games, sandstorms arrived and soon, the boys from Two and Eleven were the only ones left. Weary and exhausted, they submitted to Dalton rapidly, but not before they tried to hack away at each other in a quarrel.

It wasn't two weeks later when Dalton lost his mind.

"Skeleton?" a woman with pale hair and gaunt eyes peers at me. "You're on."

The Treaty of Treason lasts forever, as usual, but I'm pleased when it's cut off because of technical difficulties. Something about the train's radio waves interacting with the transportation satellite and bouncing off to the… who am I kidding? I don't even know.

"Boys first!" I announce into the microphone, easing over to the respective bowl. It's like a game of cat and mouse, my hand being the cat and the slips that scurry away being all the mice. But eventually, one mouse will be caught. And this mouse is…

"Francis Theurox."

A fourteen-year-old blinks huge, cow-like eyes before stumbling up dazedly. He's not the best dressed- a simple red and blue paint-speckled shirt paired with jeans… Jeans that are spattered with paint as well. Obviously, this boy wasn't prepared to be Reaped.

The girls are next, and the mouse for this year will be…

"Agatha Marbles."

Just as a thirteen-year-old with braids and glasses bursts into tears, a seventeen-year-old girl with jet black hair that rivals mine goes on a screaming fit. "I VOLUNTEER! I VOLUNTEER! I VOLUNTEER!" With her hair flying askew, she dashes up to the stage at lightning speed. Breathing heavily, she pants into the microphone, "I'm Jinx, Jinx Tesatsu."

A grin can't help but start to form on my face. A volunteer! Maybe my first year of District Six won't be so bad. It's certainly beginning to be interesting, to say the very least.

"District Six, your tributes Francis and Jinx!"

**A/N:**

**The Monster by Eminem and Rihanna. **

**I loved this set of tributes. One was submitted by last year's victor's submitter, in fact… Can you guess which one? B) In my opinion, these two tributes are definite stand-outs, and I think you know why.**

**QUESTION TIME.**

**- Which tribute stood out to you more and why?**

**- I've finished half the Reapings so far. Which three tributes are your favorite so far, and why?**

**- Out of the twelve, which three are your LEAST favorites and why?**

**- Which song lyric did you like the least and why?**


	8. 7 Reaping

_**When she speaks the name out loud,**_

_**Breathless I pray it's some mistake.**_

**Leaf Ender, 13  
**

As the brush swoops over my eyelids, my eyelashes flutter in anticipation of the hard poke of a makeup brush. I hear the familiar giggle of Lucinda, Rosie, and Elm, all of whom are currently making me up. Lucinda's doing my makeup, Rosie my hair, and Elm's choosing an outfit for me to wear.

It's lucky, really, that they don't know I'll immediately be undoing it once they leave.

"Are you girls done yet?" I ask.

Lucinda shrilly giggles. "Almost, Leaf!" she shrieks in delight. "I just have to make your lips all purty and then I'm done!"

"I need a hair tie," Rosie screams out.

"I'LL get you one!" Eager to please, Elm dashes to the hall bathroom to grab up a ribbon.

I sneak a glance at the outfit Elm has put together, raiding the dress-up closet— a hot pink sweater, hunter green leggings, and fringed, suede maroon boots. Just wonderful.

Lucinda smears some lipstick on me and Rosie ties my hair off. I quickly dress in Elm's little outfit before I'm allowed to sneak a peek in the mirror.

My eyes are dramatically done up in shimmery, cheap lavender lipstick. The blush isn't that bad, just perhaps a bit too red, and the lipstick is a pale coral color, wiped all the way around my mouth, not once touching my lips. And my thick black hair is in an elaborately done braided-bun hairstyle, tied off with one big white ribbon.

"I… look beautiful," I say numbly, forcing a smile for the little girls' sake.

"You really, really like it?" Lucinda says eagerly, hands clasped in front of her in delight. "I knew you liked that purty purple color, so that's why I done your eye-cups in it!"

"Eyelids," I correct her. "Eyecups are little coffee mugs used to hold eyeballs!"

"EWW!" the three girls shriek out, laughing. "Nasty!"

"Can you do meeeeeeee next?" begs Elm, unknowingly starting a riot.

"No, me!" Rosie pitches.

"Me, please, Leafy!" Lucinda trills.

"I'll do each of you later." I glance sideways at the enormous brown clock that hangs in our dormitory. "Five minutes till breakfast. Go and wash up, girls!"

It takes over five minutes to scrape the caked-on makeup off, tug my hair free of the braided bun, and grab my white nightgown to wear to breakfast. Once I'm done, my cheeks have a healthy glow thanks to the scrubbing I just did.

Breakfast today is a treat- a breakfast buffet, which is really rare in the orphanage! Nearby, monitors watch with hawk eyes to make sure you don't fill your plate too full. I take a small slab of cold salted ham, a sliver of cheese, a few apple slices, and a crumbly piece of toast- dry, just as I like it.

My feet slap against the asphalt as I walk to the outdoor garden, which nobody goes in anymore since it's so overgrown and twisted outside the walls. But on the inside, the flowers give off a really fragrant smell, the pathways aren't littered with weeds as majority thinks, and the old pillars, benches, and decorations are still intact. The creek may not be as wide as it once was, but it still bubbles and trips along merrily, with just enough water to wade in.

I set my plate down on a wicker table and start nibbling on an apple slice, scanning the garden for Blight. I see a familiar movement of tawny hair and whistle quickly.

The dog struts over, his eyes sagging more than usual. Scratching behind his ears playfully, I break off half the ham and feed it to him. I do the same with the cheese, and after a while of sniffing he chows down on an apple slice.

I absent-mindedly scratch behind his ears, my eyes straying to the wildflowers that are scattered aimlessly around. Beautiful, I think. The only thing of beauty that I know. There are white-faced daisies, multicolored tulips, fragrant hydrangeas, huge peonies with their many small leaves, and green ivy that crawls up the wall that separates the garden from the orphanage.

Ivy…

"I'll see you after the Reaping, Blight," I tell the dog hurriedly, dumping the rest of my food on the ground for him to chow down upon. "I'm gonna visit my sister!"

A visit to see Ivy is rare, especially since the orphans are almost never allowed to leave grounds. Special days, such as the Reaping, are different. We can go wherever we want in the mornings. Some visit the river, most visit the museum that gives an hour-long tour for only six coins. Me? I visit Ivy, my older sister.

Ivy was actually _wanted_ by my parents, you see. They just wanted one child, a girl. And when they got her, they were halfway over the moon. And then one night when Ivy was just seven, I happened. Leaf, they named me. Father wanted to call me "Weed" because I was so unexpected, but Ivy begged for Leaf. They knew they'd give me up, so they must have thought that I might as well have an attractive name. So Leaf I am.

Ivy is nineteen now, and lives in a hut near the linden orchards. Lindens were always her favorite tree, she told me. Their sweet-smelling buttery yellow blossoms made her heart swell in delight, and the soft timber could be easily carved. The only keepsake I have of my sister is a small doll's supper plate, which was carved out of the same linden wood that she loves.

I trip along merrily, my black braids bouncing on the smalls of my back, eyes trained on her hut in the distance. She's at home, it tells me. The chimney is smoking. Maybe she's cooking breakfast for herself, or making a warm fire to keep warm in these cold mornings. Either one, she's built a fire and I will soon be sitting upon the hearth with a broad grin on my face.

I knock lightly on the door so it doesn't cave in, and when Ivy answers I greet her with a tight embrace. She's surprised, though. I don't know why.

"Morning, Ives!" I say jovially. "The orphanage let me out today!"

Ivy's eyes flicker over to her fireplace, and I notice that there's a small bowl warming up by it. "What's in the hearth?"

"I… I didn't know you were coming. I just made myself some oatmeal."

"Oh…" for some reason that was unknown to me, this is awkward. I nod lightly, offering up a cutesy smile. "I had breakfast, ham and apples and all _sorts_ of things!"

"Good!" Ivy visibly relaxes. "I was wondering, you know, if you were going to try and eat your meal here… but now that I know you've already eaten… good!"

"So let's just talk," I say, smiling.

And we do.

**Ben McMhon, 12**

My friend starts to walk over, his eyebrows raised and face full of disbelief. "Ben," he says. "You haven't done a single lick of work, man! You're gonna be scolded!"

I stretch my arms out lazily. "Aw, shush, Kirk," I reply. "I'm gonna get all my branches shredded, just wait and see."

"How?" Kirk wants to know, his face contorted in confusion.

My eyes dart back and forth, taking in potential eavesdroppers, before I whisper to him, "I always find a way, don't I?"

Kirk scowls. "I thought you were gonna tell me, when you looked around like that."

"Nope." I cross my arms. "Just wait and see, Kirk, by the end of the day I'll have more than everybody else."

"I still wanna know."

"En-oh spells NO. Sorry."

Now, I thought to myself as Kirk scampered back to his individual wood shredder, I have to find a way to get these branches shredded in half an hour. Glancing over at the huge pile of tree limbs, though, I could tell that that would be impossible. Plus, shredding timber is not my idea of a good time.

Sniffing up the fresh, pine-scented air, I begin to take a short walk around the lumber yard. I knew that there had to be a way to complete it, I just needed to figure it out. I spotted my twin brother, Leo, who currently was red-faced, shrinking back. He was being scolded by his overseer. Curious, I eased over to him to listen in.

"You LAZY, LAZY boy. Taking a break when you haven't done a THIRD of your work, uh? You'd be better off if you were REAPED, for heaven's sake!" shouts the woman, throwing her hands in the air. "At least then you'd be working, working for your LIFE!"

Leo swallows, his face growing more and more like a tomato. "Sorry," he mouths to her, unable to defend himself.

"Sorry? Sorry doesn't even BEGIN to cover it!"

No mooching off Leo today, passing him off for a certain Ben and me off for a certain Leo. It always was a fine tactic, one that I used often. But today, however, seems to be-

"Ben."

I whirl around to come face-to-face with Jessie, my older sister. Her long brunette hair is in a messy braid, and she is raging mad.

"You've not completed a single branch!" she hollers. "That means no pay, and I'll have to wind up taking tesserae so we don't STARVE to death! God, Ben, could you just WORK for once?"

Her words sting like a bee bite, and I shrug timidly. "Sorry," I squeak out, ashamed. Jessie does have that effect on people. "I guess I got too tied up in… in…"

"In WHAT?" she demands.

"In helping LEO. I felt so bad that he worked slowly, I decided to work together with him."

Jessie, gullible Jessie, instantly melts and her face breaks out in a loopy grin. "You helped your brother?" she says quietly. "That's so unlike you, Ben. And sort of sweet."

I wipe away a salty tear that I just forced from my eye. "Sorry to have let you down," I remark blackly, eyes averted to the ground. "I guess I'm just not good enough. I'll get back to my own branches."

Almost as if on cue, Jessie grabs my shoulder. "You know what?" she tells me, still smiling. "I can do half or four branches. Consider it sisterly love."

"You mean it?" I shriek out, bouncing on the balls of my feet. Before she can change her mind, I plant a sloppy kiss on her chin and run off to haul a couple limbs over to her. "Gee, thanks, sister!"

"Anything!" Jessie grins. "You deserve it, Ben, helping Leo out and all that. You should be rewarded!"

With my head held high in the air and nose pointed in the pine-scented air, I strut off to complete the two or three branches I have left.

**Magenta Biel, 36, District Seven escort**

"You've outshone even your best work this time, Xia," I sigh happily, watching my limber form as I twirl in front of the gargantuan mirror. Bits of light dance off the knee-length teal dress as tiny feathers create an hourglass illusion around my hips and torso. The stones in my necklace reflect any light, as well.

"Are you positive, Mag?" Xia beams, a self-satisfied smile warming up to her delicate features. "I wasn't sure we should break away from the color magenta."

I shake my head, eyes still trained on myself. "I was getting bored of that pinkish color anyways. I think it's good for a change. New district, I suppose."

"Yes…"

Rage suddenly seizes my senses, and I grit my teeth as to avoid an outburst. "They downgraded me," I murmur. "I was from Three, expecting One."

"I'm sure that they thought this was an improvement," Xia assures me hurriedly. "I mean, Mag, Three is filled with gasoline and lightbulbs and heat, while here is jam-packed with pine needles and wonderful scents!"

"The thing is," I seethe, "is I've been in Seven before. Everybody knows that. Remember that one kid, Jack or something? In the sixty-eighth Games? His Reapings was one of the guiltiest I've ever done, Xia, and I don't think anybody could forget how it was on the news that I broke down when his district partner committed suicide!"

"You grew too attached," whispers Xia.

"Yes. I did. Silly of me, to care so much for a simple thirteen-year-old. But that's the past, naturally." I raise my head up high and allow the stylist to adjust my circlet. "And as of now, this is the future. I'm positive that there will be no more thirteen-year-old girls from District Seven for me to obsess over."

Well, minutes later as a small female called Leaf Ender scampers forward, I openly moan. My prediction was wrong, natch.

I watch her black hair, tied up in a high ponytail, as it bobs up to the stage, hovering over an extremely pale and scared face.

"Ben McMhon?" Dearly I hope it's not another fourteen-year-old with a quirky smile and glistering eyes. "Is there a Ben McMhon here?"

A boy emerges from a younger sector- not the fourteen-year-olds, thank God. His face is relatively bored, but I can tell that underneath his thin, cotton shirt his heart is pounding out of his chest.

"Erm, shake hands, you two," I whisper as Ben arrives at the stage. He looks at Leaf evilly, eyeing up her tear-streaked cheeks.

"What if I don't wanna shake hands with her?" he sneers. "She's an orphan girl. She probably has fleas."

"Right back at you!" Leaf spits, her eyes brimming over with more brackish tears.

"Kids," I hiss, "You're making me look bad. Shake your effing hands already before I nail them together!"

There it goes, my temper again. I can't help it, though. It's like a demon that slowly erupts from my inner core, threatening to spew over whenever times get uppity. And needless to say, I believe that might be why I was relocated back to District Seven.

Ben finally allows his pinkie finger to be shook by a quivering Leaf, and with a broad smile I turn to the crowd and announce happily, "District Seven, I present to you Leaf Ender and Ben McMhon!"

**A/N: The Reaping by the Tributes.**

**And yes. That is an actual band. Their album is entitled "Panem's Best" and it has songs like "Mockingjay" and "Arena" and stuff like that. The Reaping just seemed best for a district with two of the youngest tributes, with thoughts soaring through their heads and all that.**

**Leaf and Ben. My, my. One was extremely easy to write for, while the other… I think you can tell in my writing that I didn't really connect. I hope you can't, though, tell one from another. Eek. That explains the time gap, all the rest will (hopefully) be updated like usual.**

**QUESTION TIME.**

**Which tribute did you connect with most and why?**

**Of all the tributes you've met so far, which three, in your opinion, have the greatest chance of victory and why?**

**Which escort was your LEAST favorite and why?**

**Lastly, which three tributes have the LEAST chance of victory and why?**


	9. 8 Carry On

_**We are shining stars,**_

_**We are invincible **_

**Willa Seamstress, 16**

It's not different today, but rather routine. Every Reaping day in District Eight, rainclouds hover over the entire place and it thunders the entire day. It's always been like that since God knows when. Every. Stinking. Reaping.

It's nice to know that some things don't change.

I open my fist, letting in some soft patters of rain, letting it overflow and allowing liquid to seep through the cracks between my fingers. I capture a handful, then slowly begin to sip it, relishing in the cold, fresh taste.

"Willa!"

I shake my hand free of water and wipe it on my tight jeans, my eyes wide and searching. "Yeah? Hello?"

A familiar face pops into my peripheral vision, grinning broadly. "You're late!"

"'M not late," I murmur, glancing at the rickety old clock that beams down on the bustling marketplace. "It's ten exactly."

"You're just asking for it, huh?" Lillian asks sarcastically, not waiting for an answer. "I guess I'll just ask old brother Cujo to come over to your house after the Reaping and maybe —"

"Providing we both live through the Reaping," I say vaguely, slowly fingering my dark brown hair carefully, combing through it with my slender fingers. "And yeah, I'm sort of joking about that."

Lillian's eyes wide, she warns, "Don't even joke, Willa. It's like, déjà vu. Think about it like that. If you say anything about yourself getting Reaped, it's like you were born to die!"

"I'm the one joking about death?" I retort.

"Insane, more like it. Joking 'bout in insanity."

"Right…." I roll my eyes. "Say I was. Anyways. Where's Jana and Sequin?"

"Why?"

"I'm looking for them, obviously."

"Oh." Lillian shrugs, her uncaring disposition really seeping through. "I told them that they didn't have to come to the market today. There's not much of a need to have them around on a special day, after all. It's not like they're our best friends."

When she sees my inner rage glimmering in my eyes, she quickly backpedals, remarking "I mean, they're _not_… Or… We're best friends… Right?"

"Yeah." I brush this off with a barely masked shrug. "Of course, Lillian. Not like we're going to take a walk on the wild side and leave them in the dust, oh no. They're sooooo important."

"I can always tell when you're being sarcastic, Willa. Why are you so ticked off?"

I flare my nostrils. "I don't know why," I admit, discreetly feeling my cheek to prove, yes, it's getting flushed. "Guess I'm just a bit upset that it's the Reaping, you told 'em to stay home, sort of tricking them…. You know how it is."

"I certainly do," Lillian responds, pulling her pale blond eyebrows into a barely menacing glare. I retort with a scowl laced with venom. "Mum told me to get some healthy food for this morning. Guess we'll be parting ways?"

"So you're saying I don't eat healthfully?" I snap. "My dad's a doctor's assistant, and he's always on our backs to eat good food."

"Yeah," Lillian replies loftily, her eyes straying to just outside the large tent-lined street. It's not a bad street for being right in the middle of Eight, actually. Not too worn down. If anything, the cobblestone's rough and jagged, and the paint on the railings is still smooth and inky black. Tents project from the side, thrown upon thin rods that serve as support beams. Rain patters down heavily, and you can see the shadow of water collecting in the center where the canvases meet.

"Madison's Market, then?" I say, changing the subject and offering my arm to her. She accepts it with an animated grin, linking her own elbow with mine.

"Let's. I'm craving a vanilla bean cookie today."

Together we glide elegantly over the stone pavement to our favorite hang-out spot, Madison's Market. Casually we call it "Maddie's Mark" but that's only on regular days, save birthdays. Madison's is filled to the brim with tons of assorted goods, some useful and inexpensive and some pricey and have no logical use but they're so dang amusing that you have to purchase it. Plus, they have a small café in the front for those shopping who just want to grab a coffee.

We each snag a cranberry juice and a simple slice of buttered toast and take our regular table, a small one close to the wall. Our eyes meet briefly, but Lillian's dart away nearly instantly.

"Why" is out of my mouth before I can stop it, so hastily I add on, "Why are you all nervous?"

"We're not invincible," Lillian mutters, staring aimlessly into her juice. "And I know that if I do get picked, I couldn't even escape the bloodbath. I'm not strong or anything."

Rolling my eyes, I nibble on the crispy crust. "As if. There's millions of girls in Eight that are eligible. Not one person from our school has even come close to being Reaped."

Lillian gazes out into the busy street that bustles with people of all colors, shapes, and sizes. "I know," she whispers. "But even the threat looming overhead is terrifying. At least if you were Reaped, you'd stand a chance, being all bossy and that."

"Hey," I retort, offended. "'M not bossy. Shut up."

Lillian cracks a grin from her gloomy exterior. "See?" she giggles. "Bossy, bossy, bossy."

**Camo Russo, 18**

I draw my knees closer to my chin, still furiously chewing down on my flavorless wedge of gum. My eyes carefully watch out for predators. My instinct is not to fight; it is to flee. Waging war is pointless. Not gonna start any new battle.

Not like that past battle…

The casualties? There were many, but just one is still remembered by me. He was Atticus. Atticus Russo. My twin brother.

Everybody thinks he's dead.

That's not true.

The person who was killed was not Atticus Russo.

The person who was killed was named _Camo_. Camo Russo.

Funny story, that…

I hear a snapping noise and instantly my body begins to shudder with fierce apprehensiveness. I tuck the tiny slab of chewing gum neatly under my tongue and pull my knees in even closer to my chin, if even possible. My eyes widen as I see the image of the person come closer into my sight.

"Camo? What are you doing under the table?"

My eyes flicker down. "Nothing, Mom," I sigh as I crawl out.

She knows I am not Camo. She _knows_ I am Atticus, her firstborn son. The twin of the boy who died on that bloody, bloody night…

_The night sky is illuminated with flickering red fireworks that shriek as they career across the sky. The stars glimmered in silent knowledge, knowledge of what would happen that night._

_The revolt was not large, just consisting of fifty or so people, mainly boys over sixteen. They each carried a long, silver harpoon with a shred of patterned fabric wrapped tightly around the faded rubber grip._

_Camo Russo was next to his elder brother, Atticus. He watched in awe as Atticus strode so effortlessly, his face a mask of bravery and dignity both. He could only hope to one day be as fearless as his twin brother. Even his harpoon seemed more pompous, standing taller and shining more brightly than any other person's weapon. A guard blew on his shrill whistle and Camo's spine immediately straightened, his face staring ahead solemnly as all the rest of the men and women._

"_We've come a long way, boys and girls," shouted the colonel, spitting out tiny fragments of a cigar he had previously been puffing upon. "Tonight we'll show those effing Peacekeepers who's boss around District Eight! Seventy-four men and women, all closing in on their pretty li'l Justice Building, not nearly enough guards to fend us off!"_

_Another crimson firework exploded above his head, accentuating his words nicely._

_Atticus's eyes darted to his little brother to his left, whose hands were quivering around the heavy harpoon._

"_There's no going back now, Camo," he whispered. "It's go time."_

"_I know," Camo replied indignantly, puffing his chest out and forcing a ceremonious expression onto his face. Plastering a similar stern look on, Atticus averted his gaze to the looming building in front of the troops. The colonel, clad in navy, gave a puff on his thin, metallic whistle. _

_Nearly immediately a rush of Peacekeepers swarmed from all hiding spots- posing next to a gargoyle statue, behind shrubs, on top of a pillar, even in a small loft area that hung over the soldiers._

_Over half of the troops began spearing the Peacekeepers, their bodies collapsing and guns lying on the concrete ground, forgotten. Camo let out a scream. His legs, unsure of where to go, turned in opposite directions, causing his knees to buckle and limber body to come crashing to the ground. Atticus, in the middle of knocking a Peacekeeper's gun out of his hand with the harpoon, nearly missed the sight of a bullet being shot through Camo's head, showering nearby soldiers with bone fragments, carnage, and tufts of thick hair._

_Atticus couldn't stop screaming._

Her soft eyes beckon me to the loveseat, and I sit down gingerly, knowing the threat of our house being bugged. My father being a rebel troop leader has lead to many suspicious people over the years.

"You look like you've been crying," Mom prods me gently. "Are you thinking about Atticus?" She glides over her words easily. Practicing to call me 'Camo' has been hard, but she's learned even better than I have.

"Yeah," I mutter, rubbing a hand through my black locks and nibbling neurotically on my gum. "It's just not fair, Mom, he didn't know any better."

Mom sighs, her stare now looking out the window wistfully at the pouring rain. "We both know that now," she murmurs.

We both know that I am to be Reaped, by stern orders of President Snow. He's figured out who my father is and what really happened on that night of the revolt. I know that he'll enjoy watching me rot in that arena, not even showing my true identity of Atticus Russo. Instead, I'll be Camo– the weak, skittish brother of the boy rebel who died a gory death a year ago.

"I'm going to miss you," I whisper brokenly to my mother as she dabs away a pearly tear not unlike the ones that stream down our windows now.

Her embrace is the last one I give my mother, as she breathes back, "I'll miss you, At– I mean, C-Camo."

**Flitter Guide, 30**

I clutch my wine glass carefully as I observe my assistant, Passion, carefully dabbing at my boots with a tissue in hand and a small tub of varnish in the other.

"Make sure they sparkle," I bark. "That's the only thing the shorter kids will see are my shoes. Make sure they shine, but they won't fade in this wretched rain!"

"I'm trying!" screeches Passion, rubbing furiously at the worn leather. "Do you seriously need to wear these old loafers every Reaping? I'm exhausted of shining them for two hours straight before every single Reaping!"

"They need to sparkle," I reply, glaring furiously. "After that I'll have you comb through my mustache."

"No!" Passion gasps, placing a hand to her neck and tilting her head to the side, producing a satisfying crack. "I've worked on you for seven hours now, and it's just a couple minutes till you go on!"

"And yet, my shoes aren't sparkling!" I trill.

Passion glares, her magenta eyebrows drawing close to her freckled nose. "No," she seethes. "I don't care if your shoes aren't sparkling enough or if you even have little bugs crawling through your beard. You can do your bloody prepping yourself! I QUIT!"

"You're the last one in the prep team!" I call out to her as she sashays away.

"I don't care!"

"You, Kye, and Rhine are going to go back to prepping District Twelve!"

"CAN IT, FLITTER!" Passion howls, probably loud enough to be heard even over the thundering of that lamentable rainstorm.

Grinning to myself, I toss the unshining loafers to the side and pull on a pair of brand new ones. "Finally, I'm going to be getting a new prep team!" I squeal to myself.

"Ten seconds until you go on," a voice rings out, and I catch a glimpse of a lime green hand tugging on my wrist until I'm standing in front of the curtain. A young lady with pointed ears and that jade skin presses a button on her headset, mutters something to herself, and then, with a flick of her hand, the curtains open wide to reveal me.

The Treaty of Treason ended just before I walked in, and I see young, eligible kids quivering under my pointed stare. My beam doesn't reach my eyes, I know that, but I didn't expect such young kids to know.

"Today," I announce, "we pick our fabric princess and material king."

I hear groans from the elder kids and glare cuttingly over to them. "Ladies first, natch."

Intakes of breath are sharp on the female's side as I scrabble around in the Reaping Bowl for a minute or so. A slip of paper finally flies to my hands and I announce, "Willa Seamstress!"

A blond girl looking about sixteen emerges from a sea of girls, her jaw clenched and defined. _Ooh, we got a fighter this year_! I think excitedly to myself, a smarmy grin spreading across my face. But her acrid expression sure put a damper on the otherwise entirely pleasant situation.

"For our material king…" Discreetly I reach inside the bowl, even though my specific instructions were to say one name in particular— Camo Russo, a boy who should have been dead a year ago. The slip says 'Nire Copenbagger', but out of my mouth comes a resounding "Camo…. Russo!"

A boy emerges from the eldest section of males with a bored expression on his face. A tight, opaque periwinkle gum bubble slowly extends from his thin lips and pops right away. I glance over at Willa, whose face is flushed with anger. She notices me staring at her and hisses,

"Just wait till I come outta that arena. You'll be dead, you hear me?"

"If only what you were saying was the truth," I sigh, glaring at her furiously. I already don't like her.

"Excuse me, Mr. Happy-Happy-Joy-Joy," she huffs before averting her piercing blue eyes to Camo, who is blowing another gum bubble.

"District Eight!" I shriek out in ecstasy, "your tributes, Willa Seamstress and Camo Russo!" I glance back at them and force their hands together in a silent linking.

**A/N: Carry On by Fun.**

**Ah, yes… District Eight, the first district to rebel at the revolution. I think that both these tributes tie in with that very nicely, don't you? Willa's leadership tendencies and Camo's experience both will help them… Eh?**

**Sorry for the late (latER update, anyways) update. This week's been pretty busy. :p**

**QUESTION TIME.**

**What did you think of each POV?**

**Which tribute stands out to you more? Why?**

**Since the beginning, what are your three favorite scenes EVER?**

**From the beginning, what have your three favorite LINES been, from either tributes, their families, mentors, etc.?**

**Which three friend/family members (Like Colton from Lux, Dunite from Brucite, Talon from Alister) have stood out to you? Why?**


	10. 9 Tough

_**Don't make me sad, don't make me cry**_

_**Sometimes the road gets tough, I don't know why**_

**Alexis Tress, 17**

The air feels so sleek, so smooth on my exposed skin that it's almost hard to believe that somewhere in this world, where people are sniffing and feeling this very air, there is murder and disease littering streets. I sigh lightly, mixing my breath with the sweet, sweet air.

I'm almost free.

"Nearly," I whisper to myself, letting the word wash over my tongue. Nearly uneligible, nearly free as a bird. I'm so glad.

I blink a couple times, trying to free my abnormally long eyelashes from each other. They're sticky with my tears, tears that I shed earlier while eating breakfast. Mum and Dad didn't care though… of course they wouldn't. All they care about is work, and never do they show any signs of love and emotion to me. Bubbly, _bubbly_ me.

Amazing, really, how you can be so happy and chipper on the outside but so damaged on the inside.

Or maybe it's not so amazing. I've always been the one to admire, to wish to have my forgiving personality and gorgeous, tempting looks. Not to brag, of course, oh no. Never. But it _would_ be nice to one day try and be somebody else.

Perhaps a girl with thick, curly black hair and a teasing grin, one who can say one thing and truly, truly mean it. She'd be so daring, so brazen that nobody could even begin to question her.

Or maybe a youthful female with wide-set brown eyes and a trusting nature, not wishing to branch out on her own but knowing that one day, she'll be free from her quiet shell.

Possibly even a girl with completely amazing, wavy red hair that curls up on the ends, with a creamy skin tone and no freckles anywhere. One that's curious about things. Maybe a mortician's daughter, or a surgeon's assistant. Wishing to see more about what goes on in the body, like how the heart beats and why people cry and where we store air. Slightly morbid, but still fascinating.

Nobody, though, wants to be the girl with frosty blue eyes and plump cheeks, the girl who is so plain and nice to everybody, so freakishly _happy_ all the time. Not the boring girl. They want to be a person who stands out, who will one day be heard.

It seems that they'd want to be anything except for me.

Sad, really, but I'm used to the long-lasting stain of inconsolableness.

The air on my skin feels chilly and I shiver, casting my eyes down to the marble floor. People long for this, maybe. Maybe somewhere, someplace, somebody is throwing out a wish of living in a mansion with marble floorings and gilded chairs, with silvery curtain rods and filmy taffeta curtains that waver in the summer breeze. Those who live in poverty, these are the people who throw nasty looks at me when I'm out in public, their eyes greedily taking in my tight pants, leather boots, and stylish knit blouses. These are the people who hate me and adore me at the same time, when they know _nothing_ about me.

I hear a clicking noise behind me and my spine goes rigid, goosebumps crawling down my flesh rapidly. I straighten my vertebral column, the silky material clinging to it.

It's the sound I've come to both love hearing and dread at the same time– my mother's high heels clicking against our expansive marble floors.

"Alexis?" she shrieks accusingly to me. I flinch immediately, tears already pricking at the back of my eyelids and my stomach churning like it's making butter.

"Yes, Mum?" I whisper.

"You were staring out the window." I'm caught in her wide-eyed brown gaze. "What were you looking at, Alexis?"

I swallow thickly. "I was admiring the tulip beds," I say.

"Why?"

I catch myself right before I shrug, and instead reply boldly, "Well, why not? They're so beautiful, the way the light barely shines through the thin petals and the green arms stretching out to the sun. Have you ever looked at a tulip that way, Mum?"

Her nostrils flare. "Alexis!" she screeches. "They are _flowers_! You do not simply stare at flowers all morning, you useless, useless girl! Your father and I? We've worked so hard to get you the life you have! Why don't you read the magazines we give to you, or watch television? We buy them for _you_!"

My throat closes up in a swelling of emotion. "I'm sorry, Mum," I tell her miserably. "I'll go look at a book now, or something like that…"

Her beady brown eyes fixate on me as I discard the afghan that I was just holding. Under her evil stare, I shuffle to my bedroom, salty tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.

_She doesn't know any better_, I try to console myself. _She'd never_ _do that if she knew it was hurting your feelings. No parent in their right mind would. Ever. Period._

But somehow, somewhere in a corner of my mind I know that this is not the truth. See, my mother has…. A disease. She feels no human emotions– not love, passion, hate, disgust, surprise. I don't know how she was diagnosed or anything.

She only married my father because he was a suitable business partner. I guess I was their love child.

_It's not fair,_ I often bellyache to myself. _How come a sweet girl like me had to be born to this unfortunate couple? Why not a nastier, lazy, imprudent child? They could do all the mean things they wanted to him or her._ Of course, I'd never wish for something like that to happen. Little old Alexis, too nice to do anything like that.

I twirl a small buttery blond lock of my hair on my finger, watching the dismal, murky clouds loom overhead, slowly but surely advancing onto the pastel-blue sky overhead. It seems too perfect a day to be the Reaping.

What if…

No, never.

**Cohush Nigrum, 13**

Somebody's crying.

"Why, why, why?"

Somebody's singing.

"Go home, across the riverbed, my child."

Somebody's screaming a resounding screech.

I scurry over to the person in question– a lanky teenage boy who has a thin sheen of sweat coating his facial skin. His extremely pale green eyes are rolled back into his head, and his lips are parted slightly.

"Shhh," I whisper, checking his name tag that's clinging to the bedpost. I've worked with so many patients today, I've nearly forgotten his name, his name that should be so familiar to me. "Channing, it's going to be alright…"

His eyes slowly roll over to me, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "My parents," he wheezed, "where are they?"

I swallow thickly. "You were in a house fire, Channing. They didn't make it out."

I've learned not to mince words around here. It makes it easier for me, my own parents, and sometimes knowing that their family members are in a better place helps the patients, soothes them so that they know they don't need to worry about them. And Channing? I saw him around Nine before the huge fire. He was always cheeky, his face stretched into a wide grin. When he first arrived here… the light that was continually burning in his eyes was, to say this in the most respectful way possible, burnt out.

He's sort of a miracle. They never expected him to wake up, and here he is, awakening for the sixth or seventh time, asking that same question for the umpteenth time.

Channing's eyes are hazy with tears as he mumbles a couple words, probably a prayer. He falls back onto his pillow with a small _plop_.

He looks so _peaceful_ lying there. As if the heavy burden of the Reaping isn't weighing him down one bit. So… _happy_.

Another screaming patient not two beds away brings me to my senses. Rapidly I careen over to the cot and throw a cold water pack on a mess of tangled, oily blond hair. Behind the matted hair lies two sparkling blue eyes and a pair of rosy lips that are open in a loud shriek, somewhat like a banshee.

I know this patient, been working with her for nearly four months. Her name is Axela, and it's been feared that she's going insane.

But the thing is…. She's _not_. I _know_ she's not. I knew her before she came in here, and she was the most innocent soul I've ever known. She was my school friend. Two years of an age difference didn't matter.

She was abused by her parents, I'm afraid, and one night her father threw her down a flight of stairs. She was conked on the head numerous times, each resulting in her "insanity". Although Axela might be going insane, I absolutely _refuse_ to acknowledge it.

"Ssssshhhh," I hiss, pressing the icepack to her damp forehead. Her nostrils flare as she seethes openly at me, cussing and attempting to scratch me. Her arms are held by iron restraints, and when I clench my fists, it's all I can do not to place a finger to that shrieking mouth.

It's just so terrible, how the girl so quickly became a shell of her former self.

"Cohush?"

It's Thyme, or "Mother" as most people call their parents. But here, it's all business to me. Calling her something as emotional as "Mother" would require myself to be brought down quite a few levels of professionalism. I can deal with calling her Thyme, though, even though the numerous stares of strangers brings my confidence down just a bit.

"Yes, Thyme?" I ask impatiently.

"If you'd like, I'd let you have the morning off." She shrugs her shoulders. "If you'd like to, anyways. You don't have to if you don't want."

I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding in. "I'll stay here, thanks," I snap, glancing over at Axela. "I never want to leave."

Thyme nods slowly, fiddling with the split ends of her light hair. "Whatever you want, Cohush. It's all up to you. Compfrey and I could watch over this wing if you'd like to run out and play with your friends."

Ah, yes…. My imaginary friends, the ones I tell Thyme and Compfrey, my father, that I have simply so they'll get off my back about being antisocial. But it's not my choice. Without me, there would have been so many dead people. Pamela, the toddler who got tangled up in the spinning blades of a reaper. If not for me, nobody would have noticed her decaying skin on her back and she never would have got better. She would have easily died of blood loss. And then there's Charlie, the old man that nearly died of a kidney failure. Me, I administered the right medicines in just the right time. Thyme and Compfrey… they aren't as observant as I.

So many people would have been killed without my help. If I had friends, I'd be out with them. I'd never have noticed Pamela, picking at the skin on her back, or Charlie's few signs of kidney failure. I'd never have noticed Craft, how he kept babbling endlessly, how nobody else ever noticed how delirious he was. I'd never have seen the leg stump of Launa, which explained her severe blood shortage. I'd never have saved exactly twelve individuals on my own.

And the praise they give me? That praise, all the friends I need. With every warm word from a survivor, it's like my list of pals gets longer, longer, longer.

Call me crazy, but it's definitely worth it.

**Java Kareff, 29**

I cringe, facing myself in the mirror. I encircle an already frail wrist with a small rubber band, scowling blackly once I find out that it is too small to fit on the bony wrist.

I glance outside to where the victors are sitting solemnly. There's Venial Something-Or-Other, a woman who won many years ago. Her thick, wavy caramel hair suggests she's bold and daring, but to tell the truth, she's the sweetest victor I've worked with. Her Games, which took place in a common redwood forest, dragged by, but she never saw any bloodshed except at the final battle, since she immediately fled from the Cornucopia and had zero allies. The only reason she won was because she was so emaciated already, going without food and water for long periods of time was to her advantage. It was down to her and the boy from Three, but he was had already gone insane enough that he walked into his own electrical trap. Venial was proclaimed victor quite a while later, as it was at first unbelievable that the scrawny girl from Nine won.

Roland Sanders, a relatively young victor, won the 68th Games. His Games was packed with fighters, and besides the beloved Career pack, his alliance was the largest there was, consisting of him, his district partner, with whom he was completely smitten, the girls from Six, Eight, and Twelve, and the scrappy boy from Ten. His arena was a four-quadrant biome composed up of a tundra, a cliffy area, a beach, and a heavenly spring valley. His alliance first wandered into the tundra, but retreated on the second day right into the hands of the Career pack. The girls from Six, Nine, and Twelve were killed, as was the boy from Ten. That left the odd girl from Eight, Kaitlin or something, and Roland. Days ticked by quickly, and the Career alliance, or One-Two-Four's as they were called back then, fractured quickly. The boy from Eight who had joined rapidly picked off most of his allies. In the end, the District Four girl overpowered most of the other tributes in a feast, including David from Eight, speared the District Three girl to a column near the Cornucopia, and, with ill intent on her mind, sought out Roland and his ally in the rocky area. Roland, planning to kill his ally because she was so messed up, accidentally gave his plan away and his ally left, not wanting to kill him. She was soon to fall at the hands– rather, teeth– of violet-colored venomous snakes in the spring valley. It wasn't long after that when Four discovered Roland. It was an hour-long, bitter battle between Roland and Four, but eventually, the girl slipped on water from a freak typhoon and Roland dug his dagger through her throat.

Yes, most of Panem watched his Games with their hearts in their throats, as did I.

He's damaged now, though. I think that another young victor, Olivander, has been slipping him morphling tablets. You can see the rows of tiny holes neatly lined up in his skin. Yet he remains more intact than most victors I've worked with, so he's a star in my book.

Taking a quick sip of cranberry juice– I never was one for tequila or whatever the other escorts drink– I hobble out to the two adults, nodding clumsily.

"Drunk again?" Roland asks suavely, with a funny little smile on his face.

"I believe that I'm the cleanest escort here," I drawl, snatching a look at Venial. Her strange violet eyes gaze sadly at her feet.

"I wouldn't be surprised," she sighs. "All the rest have been so… damaged."

She's one to talk, being one of the most…. _Well-behaved_ victors.

"I don't know," Roland jokes, his ears perking up at the opportunity to tell a joke. "Phosphate's been pretty… jaded!"

I raise an eyebrow and Venial acts likewise.

"The escort for Three…. Phosphate… Her last name is 'Jaded'," he explains, his mood immediately dropping. "Never mind, OK? Apparently some people here can't take a joke."

"Apparently," I murmur, somewhat feeling like I'm a mother here. This kid victor's just not cut out for this stuff. Hell, he's only twenty.

My Avox taps my shoulder a couple times, signaling for me to walk out. I follow her silent command, and the two victors trail after me silently.

"Welcome, District Nine!" I greet them warmly as the kids watch the credits of the Treaty of Treason slowly fade out. "It's, once again, the Reaping! I hope you all are ready, because I sure am!"

I'm responded to with complete, sheer silence. Great, just great.

I let out a huge breath of air through my nostrils as I quietly saunter over to the female Reaping bowl. My fingers scrabble around for a second before I proclaim loudly:

"Our female tribute for this year is Alexis Tress!"

A light-haired girl emerges from the seventeen-year-old sector, her face enhanced boldly with worry and shock, her lips parted in a perfect circle. She is completely _expressionless_, the only clue that she is nervous being her eyebrows drawn together closely.

Smiling, I grab her icy cold hand and thrust it in the air. "And now Alexis will have the pleasure of selecting our male tribute!"

Still emotionless, Alexis lets her hand be forced into the huge glass bowl, and I swish it around pathetically until her fingers clamp tightly onto one. I pull her wrist out, sort of like an arcade prize. The letters are blackened and bold, easy to read. I tilt my head, announcing with joy, "Cohush Nigrum will be our male tribute!"

For a minute, there's nothing– nobody moves. Everyone glances around to try and find the boy in question. I see a visible rush of Peacekeepers at the side until finally, from a younger quadrant, a frizzy-haired boy slowly begins to plod up the steps. My eyes grow wide as I see more and more of him– he's scrappy, pale, and very, very young. These are not good signs at all.

He trots up next to Alexis and I, his face lined with disbelief and sheer terror. For once in my career I feel guilty, allowing his wide sepia eyes to swallow me up.

Numbly I force their hands together, two ice-cold hands crushing together in an unwelcome way. Alexis's eyes are blank, her lips still parted. Cohush's eyes are slitted in the most irritated way they possibly can.

Still grinning, but now more uncertainly, I move the microphone closer to my lips. "Alexis Tress and Cohush Nigrum, District Nine! Your tributes!"

**A/N: Born to Die by Lana del Ray.**

**I'm nearly certain that I'm going to use this song again, for an arena chapter, so I didn't put the title, just a small fragment of the lyrics. Just putting that out there.**

**For all you submitters and readers, both review-y and silent… I GIVE YOU, THE BLOG. I made it myself! It's called ashotinthedarkhungergames . blogspot . com - just take out the spaces and there you'll have it. Deaths will be notified there when we come to it, as well as a memorial. YAYAYAYAY. ^.^**

**Oh, and by the way- Roland Sanders? He was my last victor. To see his Games, the title is "They Bleed All the Same", on my profile page, of course.**

**Alrighty—these questions starting at number 2 are about the blog, so pull up a webpage and take a crack at it!**

**QUESTION TIMEEEEE.**

**Which of these tributes stands out more to you? Why?**

**Regarding the blog, which tributes surprised you? Why?**

**Which tributes were exactly how you expected? Why?**

**From the blog, which tributes have changed your opinion on them? Why?**

**Lastly, what are your thoughts on each tribute's little blog blip? **

**Might take a bit to answer those questions, but hey. We got time. :)**


	11. 10 I'm So Lucky Lucky

_**You can fool yourself**_

_**I promise it will help**_

**Savanna Poppet, 18**

Most people naturally assume that, if you're a District Ten native, you must have long, chestnut brown hair always up in a ponytail, you must always wear baggy, rugged jeans, and you have to live on a huge, sprawling ranch. _Um, no_. Most people in Ten have brunette hair, that's true, but it's usually chopped off short to the shoulders to avoid getting tangled up in barbed wires. Thus, no ponytail. Baggy, rugged jeans are a given for old men who get down on their knees a lot, but most people's pants are perfectly fine, not-really-worn denim. And a sprawling ranch is only for the luckiest of the lucky.

Me? I guess I live up to the stereotype. I have long, wavy, fringey brown hair and mud-colored eyes. My jeans are usually pretty holey, but that's by my own choice. And yes, my father owns a horse ranch, but that's just because my uncle is the mayor and therefore he is dubbed part of the "Royal Family" and blah blah blah, after two hours of explanation, this farmland being passed down through generations, nahnahnahnahnah, something about the person who founded District Ten, blah, blah, blah, the Poppet family owns one of the largest horse ranches.

I'm sort of like a horse princess, if you think about it. Part of the Royal Family, lives on a horse ranch, training the very horses that will soon pull chariots containing this year's tributes…

And I'm the heir to this huge acreage. My sisters are both younger, so therefore I get first pick. Either the fortune or the farmland. But I reckon, if you buy the land, you can easily hire a couple farmhands to plant some soybeans and corn, rotate the crops every couple years, and eventually turn out a beautiful green bounty that will sell for nearly an eighth of the fortune. In eight years, I'd have as much as the fortune plus the farmland that's been passed down through generations. My bratty little sisters, Holly and Reno? They've had split the fortune. Holly most likely would have started a business, soon to fail, and Reno's already a little gambler.

I've always been the quirky, responsible one. Even my name sounds like some old birthing mother. _Savanna_. Not cool and traditional like _Reno_, not exotic like _Holly_.

_Savanna._

That's the thought that runs through my mind most mornings, my first name. Like today, I was simply staring at the pine ceiling, my mind empty except for the resounding echo of my name.

Reno was still snoring in her bed in the loft across from mine, as both lofts overlook the large kitchen. I can hear her pretty well, especially when she and Holly throw teddy bear jubilees. God, so annoying.

"Reno," I bellow out, not unlike the cows that are native to our land. "Renooooo."

She awakes with a start, her huge, docile eyes immediately linking with mine. "Savvy," Reno sang out, awakening Holly, the only member of our family with ashen blonde hair.

"You were snoring again," I call.

Reno shakes her head furiously. "Nuh-uh. Momma gave me those sleeping pills again."

I roll my eyes; she's talking about the protein-enriched vitamins Mom gives her, calling them 'sleeping pills' so she feels more… secure. Secure in a sort of twisted sense. Reno's always felt safer when she's not conscious. "Is that so?"

Holly joins in the conversation, immediately hollering, "WOULD YOU TWO DOLTS SHUSH AND LET A POOR GIRL SLEEP?"

Holly is thirteen with an attitude. She's entered the 'teenhood', as she calls it, and therefore has gotten more aloof with every waking hour. Hah, as if. My sister still enjoys throwing tea parties with Reno, who's nine. It doesn't help that she's blessed with gorgeous, curly platinum hair.

"Holly," I shriek out. "Holly, you're really not helping matters here."

"SHUT. UP. NOWWW."

Rolling my eyes for the second time in a minute, I swing my legs out of bed and glance at the picture that's framed on my nightstand. The cheeky smile beams out at me like it's done for three years now. Him. Elijah.

When I was fifteen, my all-time crush, Elijah Bruno, was Reaped for the 68th. I did everything- visited him at the Justice Building, stayed up till three in the morning to watch him train, even tried to persuade his girlfriend that he would die slowly, just in case he came back and she wanted him as her boyfriend, still. One day Elijah would be mine; I just knew it.

Um, yeah. He died on the second day at the hands of a Career. I was furious. All my hard work to bring Elijah back for _nothing_. When the victor arrived at our district to deliver a victory speech, I stared him down and eventually had to be escorted to the giant black iron fence that outlined the Justice Building square. From there I eyeballed him ragingly, until finally he stuttered out a "bye".

Who cares if the two were allies? He could have sacrificed himself for Elijah. Idiot. Or _dolt_, as Holly would say.

I throw on a soft, flannel navy shirt and my worn-down jeans. My hair was soon arranged into a cute, messy little bun. And to top it all off, I wore a cowgirl hat. Such a spitting image of a cowgirl, I was. _Haha_. As if.

I stride downstairs to the expansive kitchen. My uncle and his family is there; not so surprising, I guess. He's always preferred our kitchen window's view to any in his household. Him, his wife, and his infant child, Betty, are all arm-in-arm (minus Betty, who is on her mother's lap) next to the table. Mom's frantic, pulling together as many muffins and coffee cups she can find. Dad's sweating, even though this is his own brother. Is impressing him really that important? It's not worth it.

"Hello, Uncle."

**Nubu Chandlers, 15**

The mere sight of Joffree kissing Jeannette is making me queasy. Squirming uneasily, I try to get off the bench, but Joff quickly stops and pulls away from Jeannette. "Hang on," he mutters to her, peering at me with shocking icy eyes. "Be right there, Nubu."

So confidently he tells her something, and she nods back with wide eyes. All cocky and self-satisfied, Joff stands up and watches her leave until she's just a misty grey form in the distance.

"All right," he begins, but I cut him off.

"What did you say to her? Normally she's so clingy."

"Told her that it's a bro day," Joffree grins. "Just me and my best fray-und."

"Friend." I'm quick to correct him.

"Huh? Yeah, that's what I said."

Not wanting to get picky, I sigh patiently and say nothing, simply staring off into the distance, my vision growing slightly hazy at the sides like usual. Joff calls my name a few times, to which I respond with a not-so-eager reply. "Yeah, Joffree?"

A smile slowly forming over his oval-shaped face, he announces, "You seem upset. Let's go find you a girl to hang out with!"

"You mean a girlfriend?" I say doubtfully.

"What else would I mean?" Joffree shrugs his muscular shoulders, which ripple cleanly through his light orange shirt.

"I'm not the surest about this, Joff," I stall for time, my eyes meeting the ground awkwardly.

He peered at me, trying to decipher something. After furrowing his brow for a second, he shrugged like he hadn't a care in the world. "Um, alright," he coughs out. "So, erm, what do you want to do?"

He was making this more awkward than it needed to be. Swallowing thickly, I glance up at his glittering hazel eyes. "I don't care," I respond. "I just don't think I need to be meeting a girl every morning of every day– you know how it is." I attempt a grin. But Joffree's genuinely confused.

"What? What do you mean, you don't want to meet a girl?" he chokes out, his face flushing. "Girls are, like, the peanut butter to our jelly, the, um, the mustache to our nonexistent beards! We're like, the perfect duo!"

I roll my eyes discreetly. "I know, Joff," I soothe. "I just don't think that today is a very appropriate time, being the Reaping and all."

Joffree relaxes just a tad. "You're right," he says, more self-assuring and to himself than talking to me. "Nerves would probably get in the way."

I nod. "Exactly. And then I'd flub up big-time, and where would we be, then?"

"Girl-less." Joffree freezes, his eyes huge. "Yeah, we don't have to get you a girl now." He considers what he just said, then quickly nodded twice. "Yeah, no girls on Reaping day. That'll be our tradition from now on."

The corners of my mouth curl up into a small smile, happy that for once, my girl-crazy best friend is agreeing with me. "Excellent," I remark, eyes flickering over to the cobblestone streets. Humming slightly, I ask, "Hey, Joff, want to go and see the horses?"

"You seriously care about horses?" Joffree responds, his nose wrinkled up in disgust. "That's so gay, Nubu."

This hits me hard. I glare at Joffree, a rancid taste crawling up my throat. "What did you say?"

He shrugged, like it was no big deal at all. "I said that it's gay."

I inhale sharply through my nose, nails digging into my palms as the result of clenched fists. "Why did you say that?" I spit out each word separately.

Joffree furrows his eyebrows in confusion, obviously sort of confused to why I'm overreacting. "I don't know… but horses are, like…"

I force myself to make eye contact with him, but his own eyes are downcast towards his feet. "Horses are our lives," I speak harshly. "We train them so we can have bread to survive on."

"But you want to hang out with the horses?" Joffree shakes his head. "Just…. No."

He's being like a little child, and I'm pretty sure he knows it. Glaring, I stand up to my full five-feet-seven-inches and stride towards the direction of the horse farms. A sneaky quick peek back confirms that he's simply standing there, making no signs to follow me whatsoever. Whatever. I never needed friends. I could be perfectly happy on my own. Even when everybody else was hanging around in groups of two or three or more, even when I was alone, sipping my thermos full of sweet water, I observed. And what did I observe, you ask?

I saw that the human race is extremely selfish. Thievery. Deceit. Every bad temper lurked inside the deepest corners of everybody, and there was nothing anybody did to try and prevent it.

That's why I isolate myself most of the time; I'm scared of what people will say when they get to know me better. There's nothing more to it– I'm _scared_.

So what if Joffree wasn't following me to the horse pens? He could just shove it. I _didn't_ care in the least.

**Huckerton Heights, 30**

Nibbling on the end of my bright blue hair, I peer over to the two mentors for this year– Eagle Hugh and Jamie Hills. Both rather boring and old. District Ten hasn't had a victor for twenty-four years, resulting in exactly no promotions for any escort here. Me, it's my third year in escorting and I've skipped over Twelve. Not so bad, if I say so myself. If I keep this up, I just might be to District Two within twenty years.

_But seriously…._ I contemplate to myself silently, eyes pouring over Eagle and Jamie, _they could have given me some peppier victors to work with. These two look like they've been through a thousand wars._

Eagle, a woman with a strongly clenched jaw and light brown hair, is very gruff, silent, and seemingly angry. When asked a silly question she often barks out an answer, then flops back in her chair like a dead fish. Her Games were fun to watch, at least. At the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, she ran directly in to snatch up two backpacks and a machete. In her Games, she was ruthless, making only one ally and then allowing him to ride her coattails until the final six, when she killed him in his sleep. Otherwise, she was no better than the Careers. She stalked down tributes in the night, slitting their throats and stealing their supplies. When the final two were announced, her and the slender girl from One, Eagle targeted her from a distance, shakily attempting to pick her off with a bow and arrow from a cliff's top, eventually making her way down and slashing her in the back with the same machete she had gotten from the beginning.

Jamie was a bit kinder in her own Hunger Games. Her arena was a heavenly flower garden, and everything seemed to be just peachy in there. Even the Cornucopia was coated with roses. She, with the duo from Five, dashed out and picked up a messenger bag and two knives on the way. The Careers murdered most of the tributes in cold blood, but the boy from Five always seemed to sense whenever they were lurking around a corner and therefore, his allies were always alerted. On the fifth day, it was the final eleven and they were attacked by shaggy blue muttations. The boy died immediately of a thick horn to the stomach, while the girls escaped with lesser injuries. Five's girl was worse for wear, though– a horn was implanted in her collarbone. Out of pity Jamie killed, and didn't kill again until the final battle, where the boy from Seven was unarmed and weakened.

But now they've both turned to some sort of thing to keep them going– with Eagle it's alcohol, with Jamie it's morphling. Not the best thing, I must admit, for an escort to deal with– a crabby sixty-something woman who's nearly silent and drunk and a shy, odd lady who's a little loopy around the edges– but it's better than most of the other districts, I suppose.

I smooth down the front of my silky lime green overalls, which I wore especially to represent this district. For Eleven I had a farmer's sunhat permanently plopped on my head. If I'm correct in predicting my next promotion, I'll be clad in an ironing-woman costume, though I'm a man.

Eagle's and Jamie's quiet presences are suddenly gone, and with a start I realize I'm supposed to follow them. Like always, I was lost in my thoughts. Nearly tripping over my own three-inch high-heeled boots, I stumble onto the stage with a peculiar grin painted onto my orange skin.

"Welcome, welcome, to the Reaping for the 71st Annual Hunger Games," I drawl cheerily. "Today I will draw the two lucky tributes that will compete side by side twenty-two others in the bloody, vivacious, vivid race to the death!"

I'm responded to with nothing but sunken-eye stares, hollow mouths puckering in silent agony. A certain girl on the twelve-year-old sector catches my eye, her fat brown braids looped cautiously around her neck. Her blue irises meet my grey ones and she gasps in surprise.

"Ladies first, by tradition," I announce playfully, my hand quickly sliding into the circular globe. A slip darts into my hand, and I pull the piece of paper up, hoping for a fighting tribute. "Savanna Poppet!"

The name itself sounds flimsy and weak, like a piece of cardboard. That's what the girl reminds me of, as she trots up to the stage, lines creased in her forehead. She has crimp-like chestnut hair and somewhat large front teeth. But take that scared look away and I'm sure we've got a fighter on our hands! I beam at her, allowing her to smile apprehensively back.

"And now for the boys," I remark joyously, plunging my hand into the globe's sister bowl. Almost immediately I feel the perfect slip and I pull it up. "Nubuon Chandlers!"

A boy with permanent dimples emerges from the front of the crowd, his eyes scrunched tight in denial. He's in shock, poor boy. He's a bit stronger built than Savanna, although definitely younger. He looks almost mysterious in a heather gray sweatshirt and dark jeans.

"Nubu, please," he squeaks out to me, his enormous eyes quickly meeting mine before darting away to take in Savanna, who's a good half foot taller than him.

Still smiling at the rest of the relieved tributes, I chirp out a quick "Your tributes, Savanna and Nubu!" before I ask them to shake hands. Savanna grabs Nubu's a bit too briskly, and the poor boy shies away like a frightened rabbit minus the velvety ears. The girl throws their entwined hands far into the air, and I can't help but smirk quietly to myself. We just might have a victor this year, it seems.

**A/N: I'm So Lucky Lucky by Lucky Twice.**

**It was so hard to choose a song for this chapter. I considered multiple ones… some in the drawing were Colton Dixon's, some were by the Pierces, and then there was Lady Gaga. But this seems so upbeat like Savanna, so…. **_**Yeah**_**.**

**Alrighty, I love these two. Some of you might recognize a certain Savanna, though…. Hm. Nubu's a newcomer, as is everybody else, though.**

**QUESTION TIME :P**

**1. Which tribute stood out to you more and why?**

**2. Which POV was your favorite, in this chapter alone?**

**3. What are your five favorite lines spoken by any character, from Chapter One to now?**

**4. Which chapter has been your favorite? Why?**

**5. General thoughts on the blog?**


	12. 11 Red

_**It's like the colors in autumn- so bright,**_

_**Just before they lose it all**_

**Bark Umbral, 15**

People must think I'm delusional, skimming to the top of the tree with this huge, somewhat delusional beam plastered onto my face. Every single one of the other children have extremely solemn expressions smothering their own faces. They look so… defeated. I frown slightly, glancing over to the adults, who are working a couple orchards over. Even from this distance, I can see the ends of their lips turned down sadly.

Then I peer over at my best friend, Murray. He's much bulkier than I, visible muscles rippling under his long-sleeved shirt and a strong, clenched jaw outlining his oval face. Right now his jaw looks even tighter than usual, because he's gritting his teeth. Murray's picking a few pears from the branches below me, seeing as I'm much lighter and therefore can grab onto the slimmer, more willowy branches. That's how it is– two kids to a tree, no more or less. It was sheer luck that Murray was assigned to be my "tree partner".

My eyes dart over to see the neat row of Peacekeepers, each of whom looks exactly like a large bug. Making sure their helmet faces are directed in a different direction, I carefully slip a small pear under the waistband of my pants, then quickly shaking my leg so it falls down into the tucked-in part of my pants, which are connected to the thick black boots. There. The pear joins the others that I've stashed down there, although it causes some discomfort near my heel.

It's cliché, I know, to have a child stealing food to support his family. But it's what most kids do, actually, to store food in order to feed another mouth at the supper table. Luckily, it's just my parents and I, so we each get a couple extra pears to eat. All the food and yet, I'm still slimmer than anything. Stuff like that confuses me, really.

My eyes scan the tree for any extra pears, and, seeing none, I hop down a few branches and poke Murray with the toe of my boot.

"Yeah, Bark?" he sounds annoyed for some reason.

I quickly speak in a chipper tone to try and improve his mood. "Ah, just enjoying the delicious smells of sun baked pears, what about you?"

"They're not delicious."

"They _are_," I drawl dramatically. "They're completely better after they've been fully drenched in foot sweat."

Murray cracks a smile. "Foot sweat?"

I gingerly pat the side of my thick black boot, keeping my eyes on the Peacekeepers. "My feet have been sweating all day. Exhausting work, really."

Murray's hazel eyes widen in realization, and he speaks harshly. "You stole more?" he whispers rapidly. "Bark, that's terrible!"

I frown. "Don't act so surprised," I say crossly. "You have four mouths to feed, too– Latisha, Estelle, and your own parents." Murray has nothing to say at that– he just glares at me in the most irritable, irate way. In response, I grin. "Guess some can't handle the heat?" I tease.

Murray scowls, plucking the last pear off the tree and pitching it into the nearly-full wicker basket. I know I'm treading on a thin wire here, so I stop and instead march to the line with my own basket, behind loads of other underfed, scrappy kids. I feel Murray's eyes boring into me from behind, but I easily ignore him. It's all I can do, anyways…

A rough hand grabs my shoulder and throws me backwards, spilling the fresh pears everywhere. "Hey!" I splutter, my small heart pounding miles a minute.

I heard a brute-like laugh and peered up to come eye-to-eye with a grinning face; it was the local band of rebelling thieves. They were nearly never caught, although enough rumors floated around about them that you had to know they were true. Their names were Rex, Jason, and Quill and they were the meanest nineteen-year-olds around.

"Give us your basket, you little twit," hisses Quill, his breath uncomfortably close to my ear.

"Yeah," echoes Jason. "Do it."

My eyes widening in immense fear, I nod shakily and my hands begin to stretch out to give them the basket, only half full of pears now since Quill knocked them all out. My tongue is sandpapery, feeling more and more like a desert with every glance into Quill's greedy eyes.

All of a sudden, there was an enormous whoop and Quill comes crashing to the ground. Peacekeepers had begun to take notice, but that's not what had knocked the older boy down– it was the angry face of my best friend, Murray! _Was he crazy_? I grit my teeth, annoyed that my heart was still thundering out of my chest.

A white-clothed Peacekeeper drags Murray off of Quill and others immediately crowded Jason and Rex, each of whom were clenching their teeth tightly in rage.

"Has he hurt you?" a metallic voice of a woman Peacekeeper hums in my ears faintly. Gazing up brokenly into her black fencing mask, I shake my head twice, my eyes flickering faintly over to the angry trio that are being led away. If I deny everything, maybe when they come back for me they'll go easy on me…

"Do not lie, it will only come back to bite you in the neck," the female Peacekeeper commands in a much stronger voice. I imagine cold, glittering eyes behind the protective black glass shield, the ones that see death and misery every day. I shake my head rapidly.

"N-n-no, they d-d-didn't hurt m-me," I choke out, my eyes straining. "They accidentally knocked me down, you s-see."

The Peacekeeper makes a sound of annoyance and speaks a few more harsh words, but I don't hear them. Instead… In the corner of my eye I see Murray being dragged away, flinging his limbs wildly and cursing colorfully to anybody within earshot. Most likely he'll be arrested too, or whatever they do to them. And it's all my fault. Tears prick my slitted chocolate eyes, causing a rush of heat to come over my skin.

A shaky breath is taken and I stand up, nodding to the Peacekeepers that may have just saved my life, and I begin to collect the hard pears to put them back in my basket.

**Nessa Aoki, 14**

My light tread barely sounds on the fragile stairs; I'm light, even gentle when I scamper down the staircase.

Mother's in the kitchen, her willowy form facing the wall as she absent-mindedly chops up some apple bits. "Excited for the Reaping, Nessa?" she asks flatly.

My stomach grumbles as I catch a glimpse of the fruit. "Not especially," I tell her truthfully. "I guess a little bit, but the fact that they said I had to be in the Justice Square makes me nervous."

See, every year there's a specific crowd of kids that has to be called to the Justice Square, just because there's way too many kids to actually fit into the block. It's for certain that one of those kids will be Reaped, because the actual Reaping of the paper slips begins two weeks previously.

"You were there when you were twelve," remarks Mother blandly. "It's not that special. I honestly doubt that you'd be Reaped."

I blink anxiously a few times. "You really think so?" I gush. Then, in a more restrained tone, I ask quietly, "If I was Reaped, though… You'd come to visit me in the Justice Building, right?"

Mother swivels her head to face me, her startlingly black eyes piercing through me. I know she's not looking directly at me; she never does anymore. "Sure," she offers. "I'm sure your father would, too, and Layla. And definitely that one loner kid you always hang out with… Joshua, is his name?"

"Yeah, Joshua," I sigh. Knowing that your mother doesn't really care whether you're Reaped or not has got to be the worst feeling in the world. She _used_ to, sure. Back when I was twelve and got picked to be in the crowd, she sobbed for hours. But after my brother died, it was like she adopted a coat of thick armor and wouldn't dare to let anything pass its barrier.

Twisting a hank of hair around my finger, I wander upstairs to Layla's room, where my little sister is boring her eyes into her textbook. "Studying already?" I joke.

Layla looks at me with such an earnest look, I'm sorry I said anything. "Oh, no," she says truthfully. "But we do have a test in math tomorrow, so I need to get ready for that."

I nod a few times, a smirk forming on my thin face. "I thought you hated school."

"Oh, I do!" Layla nods empathically. "But the test, I don't wanna flunk like I did last time."

"You flunked last time?" I scan my memory to try and remember anything about her failing a test. "When was this?"

"Two weeks ago," Layla says.

"Well, that's too bad."

"Yeah…" she grows quiet, then solemnly states, "it was just when Momma got all upset over our baby brother."

My eyes immediately grow moist in remembrance of our younger brother who died of scarlet fever some weeks ago. Mom was so upset over it, we weren't even allowed to speak his name aloud. My life was a swirling vortex of sadness back then, at least until Layla reminded me that there was more hope in life, even in the simplest things– a pure white flower growing despite the ashes that surrounded it, the singing voice of a bubbly little toddler, even the simple four note tune that is often sung around the orchards.

I bid her a quick goodbye and rush down the stairs, well aware that there's but an hour before the Reaping. Rain has begun to drizzle down lightly, creating small popping noises everywhere, so I duck back inside the porch to snag my thin navy jacket off of the rocking chair.

I _know_ he's in our usual spot. He _has_ to be. If his abusive stepfather didn't let him go… I don't really know what I'd do, but I'd sure be furious.

But as I near the edge of the orange orchard, hidden by a gigantic pile of crates, I see his familiar, cheeky face. My eyes light up in recognition and I dart forward, not even caring that the rain's dousing my jacket through and through. He sees me too, and his own willowy form comes dashing over to me.

Our bodies smash together, and with a groan we stumble away from each other. Inwardly, though, I'm singing out in joy. Without a word Joshua cracks a grin and throws his arms around me in an unexpected hug, our limbs meshed together under the downpour of rain.

"He let you come out here?" I sigh happily.

Joshua nods, his chocolate brown eyes glancing into my own. "I had to told him I was working extra hours, though."

"Josh!" I giggle, pulling away from him. "You liar."

He shrugs gleefully. "You should be thanking me most of all, Ness."

I nod solemnly. "I know, I know," I let out a breath, itching my chin. "He's just so… so mean." 

"My mom likes him, so who am I to complain," states Josh icily, hanging his head miserably. "And it's not like I can have an effect on her love life, anyways."

"Who says?" I try to make the situation a bit lighter and happier by cracking a joke, but Joshua doesn't take it. He shrugs a response and picks at a scab on his thumb before mumbling something under his breath.

"What was that?"

Joshua glances up. "I just wish she'd know how _bad_ Kirk is for her," he mutters. "The second she turns her back, Kirk is there, scowling at us and everything."

My heart goes out to him. Josh never did anything wrong; he doesn't deserve a mean parent.

"I just wish," Joshua begins, then quickly shakes his head and presses his hands to his damp hair, squeezing his head like it's trapped in a vise.

"Wish what?" I ask quietly.

He can't respond in the time it takes for a flashing white bolt of lightning to strike the crates and topple over. My eyes widen in fear and I let out a huge scream, clenching my hands into tight fists. A tower of crates leans ominously towards me, shies away. A gust of wind suddenly blows directly into my face and the tower begins crashing down.

"_NESS_!" shrieks Joshua, leaping to grab me. He seizes my elbow while I'm still rooted to my spot, then drags me to the side as the boxes tumble down just beneath my toes.

He saved me.

**Paolo Thornez, 40, District Eleven escort**

"Hello, _hello_!"

I pump the hands of Seeder Tax and Chaff Knightly rapidly, chattering a mile a minute like some possessed chipmunk. "_So_ nice to meet you in person! I watched _your_ Games-" I jab a finger into Chaff's chest- "around seventeen times, I was _that_ enthralled! The way you stabbed the boy from Two in the neck so fiercely was _such_ amazing work!"

"Flattered," mutters Chaff, for once sober.

"And Seeder." I stop and can't do anything but smile, feeling waves of happy adrenaline gush out of my veins. "Seeder…. I have no words at all to describe your _epicness_!"

Seeder visibly forces a smile, nodding back a hello. "It's nice to make your acquaintance too, Mr. Thorne."

I shake my head, still giggling as the hot pink dreadlocks slap against my cheeks. "No, no, no, no, no! It's Thornez, with a 'z'! I added the z to give it more… to give it more…" I can't think of the right word. Then it hits me and I leap up excitedly. "I have added the 'z' to give it more _ZAZZINESS_! It's so _ZAZZY_!"

Seeder blinks while Chaff bursts into raucous laughter, slapping me on the back. With a yelp, I'm propelled forward into the face of a pale, light-haired Avox. I push myself off disgustedly, and for good measures spit on the thing. "You aren't a very good cushion," I hiss at her, my eyes shooting daggers.

Seeder seems amused when I rejoin the two mentors. "So, tell me," she begins. "You decide to rub elbows with people who were the original misfits until we won, and you spit upon one who was braver than most and tried to start a rebellion?"

My lime eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Is that what I was just doing?" I ask distractedly. "I didn't notice."

Chaff and Seeder share a private smile, which makes me feel a bit left out. With a harrumph I plop down on a plastic chair that was provided for me at the beginning.

It's my first year as an escort, and I really don't want to mess this up. I've heard that once you earn yourself a victor, you immediately get propelled forward four or five districts, and I wouldn't mind a shot at District Seven while I'm still young, agile, and forty years old.

Nervously I bounce on the balls of my feet as the Treaty of Treason plays out, watching carefully as Seeder and Chaff take their seats and wave to the crowd. Then all at once the same light-haired Avox who I spat upon earlier pushes _me_ onto the stage, rather roughly if I say so myself. Dusting imaginary dust off of my silver and neon yellow trousers, I beam at the flocks of dark-skinned kids who have gathered.

"Welcome!" I shrill out. "One of you lucky children will have the honor of winning for District Eleven this year!" My voice cracks. "Against tradition, I think I'll select our healthy-looking man today, eh?"

Nobody gives me any response back, so I scamper over to the male's Reaping bowl. Only one name is contained in all of these slips, the same name printed on every single one. And it's like that for the females, too. Something about the tributes being picked weeks before?

I carelessly withdraw a large sheet of paper and move back to the microphone. "Bark Umbral? You're going to win, my fine man!"

There's no sign of any tribute and I swallow thickly. Suddenly, there's movement in one of the middle sections. A scrappy kid is lifted up by the kids around him and he crowd-surfs, unconscious, to the stage. Bark has just fainted.

Scowling at the limp form of an emaciated male, I grab a female's slip. Hopefully this one has a little meat on her. I wouldn't mind that at _all_.

"Nessa Aoki!"

There's a collective gasp from both the girls' side and the boys' side. A little girl with bushy black hair in a braid slowly moves up to the stage, her face clouded with disbelief. On the male's side, a guy with damp raven-colored hair is beginning to sob, shrieking out her name. Nessa peers wistfully over to the boy before mounting the steps to move next to me.

I smile thinly, not at all pleased with the outcome of this Reaping. Two scrawny kids, a fainter and a shocked one. Couldn't they at least try to be happy? I mean, there's a one-in-twenty-four chance they could defeat all odds and all the other brutal, gore-hungry kids. It's not a death wish, obviously.

Bark awakens with a start as I slosh a paper cup of warm water onto his face. He sees the little girl and I. With a moan, he begins to fall backwards again but I snatch his wrist, dragging him up to meet his district partner.

"I'm Nessa," the girl states quietly, shyly.

"I'm…. I'm Bark?" Bark says it as more of a question, still hazy and dizzy. "Wha… what happened?"

I force a shining beam onto my chin. "You were selected to win the Hunger Games!" I cheer.

Bark's eyes stay, gaunt and hollow, on me as he slowly speaks these words: "I know one thing more sure… Like a stumbling ghost, I'm gonna haunt this arena."

**A/N: Red by Taylor Swift.**

**Wahoo, only one more Reaping left. Let's kick dis into HIGH GEAR! YEAH! **

**Nessa, you can't help but love her. Same thing with Bark. They're both so cute! xD Oh, and we saw Bark's quote right here. How convenient.**

**Mkay, I have **_**nothing**_** to say. Except… YAY, spring break means tons more updates. So yeah. Mkay, nothing else to say, so…. So let's skip to the questions, shall we? *cheers, cheers***

**QUESTION TIME.**

**1. What were your thoughts on each POV?**

**2. Which tribute stood out to you more and why?**

**3. How do you feel about all of the escorts so far?**

**4. Any early predictions for what the last Reapings' tributes will be like?**

**5. Which song has been your favorite?**


	13. 12 Born this Way

_**I'm beautiful in my ways**_

'_**Cause God makes no mistakes.**_

**Annabell Berry, 17**

"Did you take the feathers and glue over to Mrs. Spine's house?"

I freeze slightly under the glare of my father. I can feel heat crawling up my cheeks and offer him a slight smile, nodding enthusiastically.

Like a predator on a mission, my father slinks away to check on something and I allow myself a sigh of relief. The smile fades as quickly as it arrived, and my cheeks slowly return to normal.

It's like this every day. Sort of a pattern, really. I wake up to rush to the store and get everything ready for the day, my father comes in late and hollers at me, I'm the victim, I do what he says, he doubts me, and when I prove to him that I did what he asks he gets all upset and calls me terrible names. I don't want our relationship to be like that. I just wanted a simple father-daughter business, like I read about in the books.

Except for one thing– my father's making it undoubtedly hard to accomplish.

_That's why you're doing what you're doing,_ my mind reminds me silently, and I clasp my hands over my ears, over hunched shoulders. Maybe a walk will help me clear my head. It's not like my father will care, honestly.

I don't even bother to leave a note, simply throw on a warm jacket and step outside, where the fog immediately cools down the hot skin on my exposed flesh. I let out a muted sigh and shove my hands deep into my pockets, blinking away the dewdrops that are forming on my eyelashes.

But only a while into my walk, through the moist veil of my eyelashes I see a familiar face. Scrubbing my fist on both eyes, I blink a few times to see the trio of my best friends, Tilly, Ruby, and Winter.

"Bell!" shrieks Ruby excitedly, flinging her arms out for a hug. I glance at Winter, who's currently gazing at the fog in a mystified way, and then at Tilly, who's jamming her thumbs inside her worn mittens in an attempt to get warm.

"How's life?" Winter asks loftily, her huge blue eyes still completely focused on the horizon. It's rather unnerving. I pull away from Ruby and shrug.

"We're all nervous, aren't we, Tilly?" Ruby says quickly. Tilly nods a few times before muttering something out.

"What?" Winter asks, he eyes finally averting from the skyline.

"I don't know why we still have to do this," Tilly murmurs, brushing a lock of dark brown hair from her eyes. "Yeah, our ancestors messed up, but why do we have to pay for it?"

"Rebellions," Ruby says sagely.

"The Hunger Games," adds Winter, although I'm not sure she really knew what we were talking about.

As usual, I twist a hank of hair around my hand and don't say a word. Keeping mum is the thing I do best.

We stand there in silence for a while, just letting the setting of fog shroud us mystically, until Ruby clears her throat and declares that she was hungry.

"We should go to your dad's store, Annabell!" she says festively, hiking up her raggedy violet cloak from around her knees. It's way too large for her. "We could all get chocolate from there!" My heart thuds nervously. Tilly and I exchange a dubious look. She knows how terrible my father treats me.

"Maybe we could go to the Seam instead," she suggests.

Ruby purses her lips. "But at Annabell's we could all get stuff on discount. _Riiiight_, Annie Bell-Bell?"

I bite my thin lip nervously, eyes darting from the direction of the store to Ruby, her fire-red hair standing out wickedly in the fog.

"Why not another place for once?" Winter says airily. "Seems to me we always go to Anna's, no offense intended."

For once Winter was helpful. I felt like hugging her, but that's more of Ruby's thing. Instead I offered my widest grin. Tilly spoke up, agreeing with her, and I nodded enthusiastically to show my approval. With a terrific humph, Ruby consented, and she began striking down the road, her hair swaying to an imaginary beat. I smirk lightly, noting how her leadership abilities definitely outshine each of us. I'm going to miss her.

But as we approach my dad's shop, I can feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead and under my arms. Truth be told, I'm terrified of what my father will say if he sees me out and not working. We pass the store without another look back, but just when I'm relaxing, I hear a bark from behind me.

The four of us whirl around to face my father, who's red-faced and reeling with ferocity. "_Annabell_!" he roars. I freeze. "Weren't you working the store? You never asked for a day off, you _USELESS, FAILURE_ of a child!"

The insults are what stand out to me the most. I blink away brackish tears, allowing a large lump to slowly form inside my throat. I can't stand seeing my best friends watching me like this, although I am aware of Winter staring off over her shoulder.

My dad storms over and snatches my wrist, his fingernails digging into my flesh. I can only look back at my best friends in despair before the store door slams shut. I hear plaster tumbling down in the walls.

My dad's not in the right state of mind. He's not a drunkard or anything, even swore he'd never touch the "devil's liquor". But ever since my mother died…. I can't even think about what he did. The tears slip out of my clenched eyes and I brace myself for the harsh sting of his hand.

It comes down repeatedly, and I'm only glad that my canvas-like coat is there to protect me. It's _always_ protected me.

**Surtr Kayhiv, 13**

I see the familiar mop of copper hair and smirk to myself, changing my pace from a light job to an all-out sprint, darting between trees and buildings, all while keeping that image in my head.

She doesn't know I'm coming, _does_ she?

When I'm not two feet away from her, she turns but it's way too late. I'm already attaching myself to her back, clinging tight.

She cusses and rotates rapidly, trying to get a glimpse of who might be holding onto her. When she sees a lock of my black hair, she sighs exasperatedly, reaches her hands up to her shoulders, and digs those sharp, sharp nails into my hands.

I hop off quickly.

"Lumi!" I greet her warmly.

"Surtr." She spat.

Smirking lightly, I crack my knuckles, which I know is a pet peeve of hers. "Have you seen Hester, Szatania, and Aria yet today?"

"Hester," says Lumi, her beady eyes scowling at me. "She told me that Szatania was sick today."

"I wonder how the Reaping will get on without her," I deadpan, mirroring her glare.

"But no, I haven't seen your little _girlfriend_ today." Lumi stretches out the word, plastering a self-satisfied smirk on her face. "Maybe she's writing you a love letter?"

My heart freezes and my own devilish smile melts into a goopy, love-struck beam. "You really think so?"

Lumi laughs, her evil cackle breaking through my happiness. "I was joking, you idiot," she wheezes between harsh chuckles. "As if she'd ever write any person a love letter, much less _you_! Honestly, Surtr, you're so gullible sometimes I wonder why you haven't decided to put on some wax wings and fly to the sun."

The hearts that encircled my head immediately pop like soap bubbles, and my puffed-up chest deflates as I accept the idea. "You're right," I admit to the seventeen-year-old, ignoring her insults. "Aria's been hurt pretty bad."

Lumi rolls her eyes. "What else is new?" she sighs.

I shrug, glancing past her. "Weren't they supposed to meet us around here?" I question.

The redhead, still glaring, offers me a "who the hell cares anymore" and starts walking away. I follow at her heels, which to some degree annoys her.

"Aria's usually in the Seam," I ponder to myself aloud, "while Hester's most likely taking care of her sister, Szatania."

"Right on, bucko."

I stroke my chin playfully as we turn the corner, exiting the urban area where both Lumi and I live. The Seam is about half a mile ahead, just beyond the entrance to some old coal mine. I've always been curious about that mine, but have always been too chicken to explore, just like I've been too chicken to tell Aria how I feel about her. I heave a heavy sigh, knowing that I'll probably never gather enough courage to admit it to her.

"You sad, man?" Lumi asks sarcastically, throwing the pitch of her voice down low.

"Nah… lady," I retort, eyes boring into the back of her head, "I was just thinking."

"Penny for your thoughts." Lumi's voice drips venom, sounds threatening. I know, however, it's just the cold front that she puts up.

"Nothing."

We walk in silence until I see the market, and just inside of Mrs. Sae's soup kitchen is Aria, sipping thoughtfully, her light hair tied back into ringlets. My heart soars and I dash towards her, leaving Lumi in my wake.

"Ariaaaaa!" I sing out, flailing my arms and nodding at Mrs. Sae, who responds with a snaggle-toothed grin. "How's the lovely lady today?"

Aria looks at me with those huge baby blues of hers, swallowing a chunk of meat. "I'm doing fine," she says quietly. "What about you, Surtr?"

"Better than anything else!" I hop up on a stool and snatch up a bowl. "I feel so rejuvenated, so energized with the knowledge that I'm gonna get through today alive!"

"Something tells me Lumi didn't threaten you today?" Aria smiles slyly.

I watch as Mrs. Sae ladles in some brownish, gravy-like broth along with peas, chunks of some meat, and turnips into my dish. "Nah, she still did. You know our Lumi. But today's the Reaping, and I simply ADORE the Reapings."

"Why?" Lumi asks, all snarky. She stabs a turnip with the end of her spoon and plops it into my bowl.

Stirring around my own stew with vigor, I shrug. "The knowledge that a person you know potentially will be broadcasted all over Panem? It's like knowing a celebrity!"

"How flattering for the tribute," Aria states dryly. "I'm sure they're pleased as peaches to know that."

I chuckle lightly. "You're sooooo funny, Aria," I reply, attempting to gaze into her eyes, except she's turned her head to Mrs. Sae to ask for seconds. "Did you know that?"

"I've been called hilarious before," Aria sighs. "Isn't it wonderful to know somebody thinks you're funny?"

She's kidding, I know that much. I'm not that stupid. I nod a few times as I scoop up a spoonful of broth.

Lumi's finally caught up to us, her eyes narrowing as she sees my nearly-full bowl of soup. "You ordered breakfast?" she growls. "I didn't bring any coins or anything."

I snatch up Aria's empty bowl and ladle a generous amount into hers. "We can share," I say angelically, batting my eyelashes.

Lumi sighs brokenly. "Gee, thanks. What would we do without Surtr over here, hm, Ari?"

Aria smiles dryly and for once, peers into my eyes. "We'd shrivel up into dry corpses and perish painfully."

To that, I beam. _Isn't she the best?_

**Musica Swirlabout, 26, Escort to District Twelve**

Patting my golden hair down self-consciously, I peer out into the masses of kids. They're all bustling, bustling in complete and utter silence. Silence. I hate it.

I also hate the mentor for two of those kids. The mentor has been the same for years, as the first victor for Twelve died just three years after victory. Haymitch Abernathy, the local drunkard, is currently wobbling around on those spindly bird legs of his, sloshing his alcohol around in his cup. Revolting. I shudder and pull the white sleeves of my gown down further, just below my knuckles.

The first year of escorting is the hardest, I hear. Afterwards, it's all peaches and cream and hearts and rainbows. Wanda Klume, the escort for District One for the past five years, was probably the happiest person in all of Panem, despite her aging, until Rosary Haynes or something like that stepped in. Rosary is my _idol_. Someday, I'd love to be in her position, looking down at the newer and fresher escorts, teaching them sagely.

I'd just _adore_ it.

I'm nervous for this year, though. I've heard that the tributes for Twelve can be wild animals, their manners terrible and their eyes wide and feral. Once you pass District Ten, the kids get softer and gentler, except for the three Career districts, of course.

But I'm scared for my own sanity and safety both. Plus, what if I don't get promoted for a long time? That would be terrible. I'd be stranded on the District Twelve island without a lifeboat, the coal-caked kids pulling me back, their eyes gaunt and their ribs jutting out. Creepy. Very creepy.

I shudder again.

I remember what my escorting coach, Scotch from Five, told me previously. He said if all else fails, find some humor in the situation. Say a funny phrase such as "Time to Reap some kids" or "I wonder how these two will do in the deathmatch!" But honestly, I'm not all on the Capitol's side like he is. I'm worried for the sake of the tributes, innocent kids who were drawn in to play their silly game.

Of course, I don't– I _can't_– share my thoughts with anybody else. I'd be arrested, beaten, tortured even. If they knew that an escort was…..

No, I can't even bear to think of that.

An Avox taps me on the shoulder and gestures for me to go outside. I thank her with a hug, although her startled eyes tell me that probably wasn't the smartest idea. I exhale and step onto the stage, my pure glass slippers clicking nervously on the wooden stage.

I smile wanly and, without a word, grab a slip from the female's bowl.

"Tanika Sherman!"

A girl with coal black hair on the one of the older sectors storms up angrily, but before she can make it there's a flash and a gasp. A girl with a head of gorgeous, flowing hair has mounted the stage with a small smile. Is she insane?

I blink a few times as Tanika, stricken with shock, moves back to her spot. The girl holds up a small note and I read off her name.

"Annabell Berry, huh?" I take her in, this girl, and then my face splits for a toothy grin. "Wonderful! A volunteer!"

Annabell nods, her own smile fading quickly as she gazes, pale, over the sea of children.

Still overcome with joy of such a rare thing happening, I grab a male's slip of paper. The name's a mouthful, but I manage to announce—

"Surtr Kayhiv!"

There's a visible gasp from the boy in question, a smaller kid with somewhat greasy black hair that flows down to the nape of his neck, before he begins walking up, the corners of his mouth curving up in the most pleased way.

"Aren't you two a wonderful bunch," I say in awe as Surtr stands next to Annabell, still simpering festively.

"I should hope so," Surtr says honestly, his eyes huge. "I want my escort to be happy."

With the most positive feeling ever, I nod to the audience. "District Twelve, I give you Annabell Berry and Surtr Kayhiv!"

**A/N: Born this Way by Lady Gaga.**

**YES! YES! YEEEES! REAPINGS ARE DONE WITH! I'm sooooo happy…! xD I'm literally wheezing with happiness. Next SYOT, I'm kicking them all out in one chapter. I loathe Reapings. Everybody does. **

**Surtr and Annabell…. Interesting bunch, no? I love them both… But did you notice? Annabell didn't say anything…. O.**

**Mkay, prepare to answer a lot of questions here. :-)**

**QUESTIONS!**

**1. Which tribute stood out to you more and why?**

**2. (These last questions will be regarding every single one of the tributes.) Who were your top ten most favorite tributes?**

**3. Which ten tributes did you find most interesting?**

**4. Which five tributes did you dislike the most?**

**5. If you could use one word to describe each tribute, starting with Brucite and ending with Annabell, what would it be?**

**6. What were your thoughts on each tribute, in a couple sentences or more?**

**7. Which tributes has the best chance of winning, to you, and why?**


	14. Smile Like You Mean It

_**Dreams aren't what they used to be,**_

_**Some things slide by so carelessly.**_

**Alessandra Balis, District Three**

"You have the most gorgeous hair…"

I nod slowly, allowing my stylist, Precious, to weave her magenta-colored hands through my long blonde hair. "Most people in Three have jet black hair, greasy since they never think to groom themselves."

Precious wrinkles her nose. "How vile!"

I roll my eyes in silent agreement, already warming up to her. "Tell me about it. How can people live like that? It's like homing a nest of rodents in your hair!" I shudder with sudden chills. "It totally grosses me out."

Precious wraps a hank of hair around her hand, murmuring to herself, not listening to me anymore. I sigh. I didn't really want to leave District Three. Sure, it was a terrible place to reside, but the fact that I'm underaged, without hardly any training… It makes me ill. I can almost feel the cheese sandwich that I nibbled on upon the train rising up my throat.

Besides getting Reaped, I'm not a huge fan of my district partner. His name is Arthur– not too bad, it sounds somewhat like a knight or a prince– but he has this loopy, goofy grin and the most obnoxious voice ever. He sat down on the train, then jumped back up, howling that "My butt's on fire, my butt's on fire!" Apparently, the kid had never tried out a seat warmer.

And right after we got off the train, I was plucked and pruned until my skin felt like fire. Every bit of hair was ripped off, even parts of my light eyebrows. They massaged my shoulders with this freezing turquoise-colored gel, and that alone was enough to dampen my mood.

Precious isn't so bad, though– she's to some extent, like me. She has an air of glory about her, and she's confident as well. If only she hadn't that wretched pink skin and golden hair. Disgusting, if you ask me.

Precious rolls up the sleeve of my fluffy grey robe, examining my arms. "They took out your arm hair, eh?" she mutters gruffly.

"It hurt like mad."

Precious nods slowly, turning my arm over gently. "At least it's not skeletal. That being said, we can squeeze you into a strapless dress."

My cheeks flush. "What do you mean, 'squeeze me into' it?"

"I didn't mean anything by that," says Precious coolly, eyes still locked on my forearm. "But the dress itself doesn't move much."

"Can I see it at least?"

Precious exhales, peering up at me. "Of course you'll get to see it, Alessandra. Just not at the moment. I'm preparing you."

"No more gels or tonics or lotions or anything like that, right?" I begin gnawing on the inside of my lip nervously.

Precious smirks, the tips of her blackened lips curving up sadistically. "Nothing like that, that's your prep team's worry. I only deal with the material parts, not the physical body itself."

"Good." I start to relax. Precious peeks at my other arm, nodding in approval whilst I stand silently, blinking and breathing very slowly.

Eventually she's done examining me and tells me to stay in the room while she fetches my dress. I obey like she says, simply picking at an exposed wound that my prep team rubbed some gritty stuff in. She returns with a large black bag not two minutes later.

"Is that my outfit for the chariots?"

"Ding, ding, ding," Precious nods in that devil-may-care way she seems so capable of. "You've guessed it, little lady."

I stand up from the cushy chair, smiling sweetly like butter wouldn't melt in my mouth, watching while Precious unwraps the costume from the thin plastic. When it's revealed, I can't help but feel a bit let down.

"Do you love it, or do you _love_ it?" Precious shakes the hanger it dangles from, making the fringed wires tinkle dramatically. "My fellow stylist, March, and I designed it ourselves."

It's a dress covered completely in wires- thick grey wire, skinny yellow wire, braided red and white wires, plastic-covered wires, wires tangled in a river-like pattern, wires threaded carefully to form a sash, everything. Every wire you could think of. But somehow, it falls a bit short of my expectations and I pout.

"It's fine," I say dismissively. "Not the best I expected from some Capitol stylists, but it'll do."

Precious snorts. "Like you could do much better."

I smirk_. Just you wait and see what I can do, Precious…_

**Alister Rain, District Five**

I finger the metallic material nervously, trying not to be weighed down by the satellite dish that beams out small yellow lights here and there. I'm sure I look ridiculous, although Lux isn't to be overlooked. The only real difference in our outfits is that she's in a short dress, whilst I have on trousers and some silver sweater.

Kassidy and Tuesday lead my district partner and I to the chariot, although Tuesday is a lot less snarky about it, whilst her fellow mentor, the crazy redhead who's my mentor, is angrily jabbering on about how_ every stinking year the tributes are stupid, idiotic satellite dishes and yammer, yammer, yammer, they should at least take a peek inside District Five to see blah, blah, blah, idiots, idiots, Alister are you listening._ Wait, what?

"I wasn't listening," I answer truthfully.

Kassidy sighs, smoothing down her black fishnet-like shirt with her excessively long nails.

"Have you considered hacking your nails off?" I ask her curiously.

Kassidy scowls. "I knew I should have taken the girl and let Tuesday have you."

At the mention of her name, the old woman perks up, her soft brown eyes flickering over to me. "Lux is doing fine," she croaks out, pushing a lock of greying brown hair past her ear. "I enjoying this girl." Lux beams.

"Thanks to you, Tuesday, I'm going to enjoy every moment of this experience right up till the arena."

"Suck-up," I tease.

Lux's eyes flash, and she sticks her tongue out at me childishly. I shake my head. Silly girl, she's never going to get very far with that attitude. I can already see I'm not going to like her much.

Kassidy jabs a curved nail to the flashing silver chariot, which looms ominously ahead of me. It appears larger in person than on the television screen. "Hurry up, before you make a scene, Alister."

I hop up, ignoring her words, and from my new stance, I survey the other tributes. The kids from Seven look terrified– well, the girl does. The boy is absent-mindedly picking his nose, and I wrinkle my own nose in disgust. No potential allies yet.

The Careers, as I've learned they're called, look less threatening than I thought. The three girls are huddled together, although the dark-haired one from Two appears more isolated. The sandy-haired man from One is admiring his muscles, whilst Two is staring off into space, his hand jammed into his trouser pockets. I think he's supposed to be some wounded soldier, as his bloody silver helmet implies. Four shows nothing, just a devilishly smirking boy and the girl who's chatting it up with One.

As Lux tries to climb up next to me, I watch the girl from Eight, with her clenched jaw and heavy makeup. She's similar to me, watching every tribute in sight silently from her chariot. Her gaze is fixated on Six, though, as the raven-haired female is seething at her partner, shouting and shrieking with obvious relish.

"_Allies?!"_ she screams. "You seriously think I'm going to join up with you, you little punk?!"

I cringe and turn to Lux. "Isn't she attractive," I say sarcastically.

Lux stops pulling at her flowing silver skirt for a moment and peers from under her wide-brimmed hat. "Huh?"

"The girl from Six, the insane-ish one."

Lux cracks a smile as she watches the fuzzy-haired kid shrink under the towering, shouting girl. "That chick's crazy."

"I heard that she volunteered."

"Tuesday told me that already, from just the Reaping bets, she's already a favorite." Lux tugs at a free-flowing lock of brunette hair. "Sort of… odd, don't you think?"

"She's scary."

"Yeah," Lux agrees. "I really wouldn't want to run into her in the arena."

My heart thuds dully against my chest. I guess I'm not really thinking that the people in this room are potential victims of mine, or if all goes terribly wrong, one of them will be my murderer. I turn away from Lux so she can't see the hardness that my eyes have taken on. I find myself nearly face-to-face with the boy from Three, who's leaning over in his chariot so far I'm surprised he hasn't fallen off.

He giggles madly, leaning back into his chariot. "Hi."

"Um, hello," I say, somewhat annoyed.

"I'm Arthur." The boy immediately stops laughing and offers me a hand, his face completely stock-straight. "District Three."

I look at his hand for a minute before shaking it lightly. "Um, I'm Alister. District Five, I guess."

Arthur beams. "That's so cool."

At first, I'm about to cuss at him, but there's something about him that makes what he just said very, very genuine. On anybody else, it would sound snarky and mocking, but on this dude, it's like… a compliment. And for some reason, I'm drawn into that. I offer him a slight half-smile.

"So, are you looking forward to chariots?" Arthur chatters on, leaning on his elbow along the side of the chariot.

"Not really," I admit.

"_Same_," Arthur keeps grinning. "I'm terrified that my nutjob of a district partner will try to knock me off or something. She seems like the quiet, possessed type."

I laugh partly for Arthur's sake, and partly because his partner, Alexandria or something like that, really is one of those types. "I know what you mean." I jerk my finger to Lux, who's examining her silver fingernails. "Girls, am I right?"

"What's up with yours?" Arthur begins, but is interrupted by a voice overhead that announces that all tributes are to grab onto the handlebar and prepare to be lined up. The black horses leading my chariot begin trotting off, and I swiftly manage to wave to Arthur before his own chariot marches in front of Four.

I grin at Lux, who rolls her eyes. "Ready, Luxandra?"

"It's _Lux_…"

**Constance von Trapp, District One**

So we're angels. Me, I'm not too upset about this, as I believe I look rather spectacular in wings and the cropped clothing they gave me, but Brucite here is a different story.

"This is so _stupid_," he grumbles, tugging at one of his feathery grey wings. "Why can't we just be kings and queens like all the other years?"

"We're luxury," I remind him. "Angels represent a life of luxury, naturally."

Bruce, as I've decided to call him, simply glares and self-consciously touches his caramel-colored Mohawk. "I don't care. Kings and queens represent that as well."

Rolling my eyes, I decide not to make small talk with the guy anymore. Too much of a bore for me. Coral's better, all nice and innocent-like, while Serafina's the frigging ice princess. She thinks she's _so_ much better than the rest of us, with her little snowflake token, which she has to show off every second, twirling it and watching bits of light reflect off of it. Annoying.

Then there's Slate, who I actually like. He seems sort of sage and wise, slightly like Trancer minus the blazing red hair and joking personality. Percy's OK, just a bit obnoxious.

The doors in front of us open and our chariot pulls out with a jerk. We're first, so I'm slightly nervous, but I don't show it in any way. Instead, I place a bright smile on my face and play up the dangerous, striking girl from One. I know that the crowds will love it, and they do. I can hear from their screams.

_Brucite! Constance! Connie! Brucite! Constance!_

I peek out of the corner of my eye at my wonderful district partner, who's currently baring his teeth at the crowds, making a show of ripping off his wispy charcoal-colored shirt to expose a pair of abs. I smirk lightly, remembering how Tempera and Trancer made a big deal out of my own only this morning.

"You seem happy," I murmur to him, not expecting him to hear me.

"I am happy," he replies, shocking me. "I'm getting to play a game in front of the people who will one day adore me as their victor. What else is better than being adored?"

"I can think of a lot of things," I sigh loftily, still waving slowly to the shrieking audiences.

"Oh? Like what?" Brucite growls, and even without looking, I know that he's baring his teeth to everyone.

"Like honor and glory. There's a lot more wealth in those, a lot more richness, than simply being as low as to want to be adored."

Bruce turns to me completely, the look on his face conflicted. "I'm not low," he says hollowly, and for a moment I feel guilty, like he's a little boy and I've offended him by taking away his toy or something. But then I remembered he _wanted_ to do this. He _volunteered_, for heaven's sake, knowing the risks and stakes, and he's offended when I suggest he's low for wanting adoration?

Like most of the people here so far, I just don't get him. But for now, I guess I'm alright with that. I have slightly less than a week, even more in the arena. So I don't need to know everything about the kid right now… right?

I smooth down my cropped shirt and quickly glance behind me. Our wonderful District Two is clad in army uniforms that are spattered with blood, which I don't really get. Their claim to fame is masonry, so the logical thing should probably be… gladiators or something. I don't really know.

Behind them is Three, where both of their skinny mini tributes are wrapped in different colored wires. The girl looks positively ticked off, while the boy's hamming it up, waving and shouting to everybody joyously. Behind them is our other alliance district, where Coral and Percy are both dressed in clothing made of shells and scales and such, to represent mermaids or something. Coral has this fugly little gown with fins at the end. Putrid.

She catches my eye and smirks at me, raising her eyebrows to indicate she's not too crazy about this. I roll my eyes sarcastically and flip my hair, turning back to the front.

When President Snow begins his little speech, I'll make sure to catch his eye, hook him, and reel him in.

Heck, I could have been from District Four.

**Cohush Nigrum, District Nine**

"_This is overwhelming_," I shout to Alexis over the deafening roar of the crowd. She can only nod in response, obviously uncomfortable.

Our costumes are clothing woven out of wheat or some crappy substitute. To be perfectly honest, it's not any fiber I recognize. But then again, I'm always in the infirmary working, and since Alexis here has never had to move a pinkie in her life thanks to her rich parents, I can't exactly ask her.

I wasn't exactly pleased when it came time for me to be Reaped. I never expected it, and I can only imagine how many people will die without me once I die. That's right, I've accepted death. It's inevitable for me in a game with eighteen-year-olds who have trained since they could walk, throwing spears and swinging hammers. And for me, a thirteen-year-old who's never left the world of medicine? …Yeah, not exactly victor material.

And yet I wave, smiling ever-so-slightly at all the bright flashes than consume me, that overwhelm me. Alexis is frowning a lot, her plump lips curved into a pout. She's not even trying, which I really don't get. She should be happy for herself. She actually has a chance, unlike half of the tributes here. For instance, Seven, with their leafy outfits shaped like weeping willow trees. They're both young, fragile, and probably easy to break. Bloodbaths for sure. Same with Eleven– two young kids, their costumes terrible (sunhats and overalls, by the way), their expressions grim.

And District Eight– I've kept my ear to the ground and I know that President Snow is hating on Camo. I don't know why, it was just a snippet of a conversation I heard Venial, my mentor, engaging in.

The chariots part in a slight semicircle, and I'm thrown close to the Seven chariot. The boy, his freckles the most striking part about him, looks utterly bored while the girl, her eyes round with fright, is visibly trembling.

I don't listen to President Snow much. He's a fat, white-haired man with greedy plans to take over Panem, just like the last ruler, I've heard. Wonderful. Alexis, however, hangs onto every word, her angelic blue eyes stretched out to watch him. Great job, Alexis, you little suck-up.

The boy from Seven is chewing a small wedge of gum, much like Camo from Eight except he's doing it much more obnoxiously, cracking it and popping the bubbles with ease. I want to hush him, but I know that I'd most likely get punished. So I keep mum and instead fixate my eyes on my glimmering golden suit.

All of a sudden, just as Snow finishes up his little speech, something wet hits my cheek and I gasp, turning to the District Seven chariot. The kid's in hysterics, while his partner, the straggly-looking girl, is in complete shock. She hisses something to him but he simply blows her a raspberry and continues his laughter. Fumbling, I snatch the gum from my cheek angrily and cast it to the floor of the chariot.

Once it begins to move again, Alexis turns to me. "What happened?"

"Creep from Seven shot his bubblegum at me," I snap, scrubbing at my cheek furiously. Who knows how many germs and bacteria he harbored in his mouth, in his very saliva?

"That's revolting!" Alexis cries.

"You feel my pain, I see," I growl, shuddering. "He's completely gross."

We stay in silence until the horses canter into the building. I hop off and immediately search for the little scrub that threw his gum, complete with germs and all, at me.

It takes a while to find Seven. I see the rest of the costumes while I search: I see the girl from Twelve, whose blond hair is up in a high ponytail, her dress a jet black and visibly powdered down in a steampunky sort of way. A fashionable miner? District Ten boy is in a cowboy suit, and he looks none too happy about it. He keeps tugging at the spurs on his leather boots disagreeably. The two from Six are squabbling, the girl snarling an answer while the trembling, frizzy-haired boy meekly puts out a question. They're in pinstripes, dressed like train conductors.

Then I see a glimpse of Seven.

I would never have spotted him if it weren't for that terrible, tall leaf costume. He is madly trying to fit through the doors of the elevator, but the branches extended too high. Eventually his mentor, a devilish looking woman with jet black hair, helps him inside with his district partner and the duo from Five. I hop inside just before the doors closed.

Seven looks pretty terrified of me, now that I was up close and obviously much taller. Glaring at him, ignoring everything else that was going on around us, I snap at him, "Why'd you do that? What did you do that for?"

"Do what for?" he asks smoothly, his forehead creased in nervousness.

I roll my eyes. "You know what. You spat your gum out at me during President Snow's speech!"

"You did?" screeches his mentor, her mascaraed eyes wide. She turns to Seven and _cheers_, saying, "Ben, I think you're one of my favorite little people right now."

I catch a glimpse of the forgotten district partner huddled in a corner, clutching onto the hem of the brunette girl from Five's dress. She's my age, although she appears much smaller.

"Hey, you," I say rudely, pushing away Five without another glance, "We should be allies."

The girl's expression is completely fearful. "Um, I don't know," she whispers, her eyes brimming over in tears.

I fold my arms and sneak a peek at Ben, who shows absolutely no remorse. The whole point of this was to get his a little jealous, show that he didn't affect me one bit. Or… or something like that. I'm not really sure. My mindset isn't the best right now.

"What's your name?" I ask her.

"L-L-Leaf," she stutters out.

"I'm Cohush Nigrum from District Nine." I don't offer my hand or anything, simply slide next to her as the pair from Five walk out of the elevator. "Maybe tomorrow you'll make your decision?"

"_Smooth_, Hushpuppy!" Ben barks at me, and his mentor smirks the tiniest bit.

Ignoring him completely, even giving him the hand, I smile at the trembling girl. "I'm sure we'd make a powerful alliance, just us two!" I chirp, waving as she walks out.

I'm not sure how I did. I've always been terrible with my people skills, never caring for anybody more than my patients. But I suppose that Leaf may have attracted my attention, looking like nothing more than a fragile, broken child. Maybe I didn't really want to be allies, just get to know her a little better.

I don't _know_. After all, I've only had imaginary friends.

**Leaf Ender, District Seven**

"I'm sure we'd make a powerful alliance, just us two!" Cohush warbles as I scamper out of the elevator, my heart pounding out of my chest.

Truth is, the boy scares me. His bushy hair made me apprehensive, and once he began talking to me like he knew me since forever…. That was the last straw, I officially was terrified of him. I'd like to say he's insane or something, but I don't want to be rude. I don't even want to _talk_ about him to Blight. The entire thing makes me uncomfortable.

"Looks like little Leaf is scaaaared!" Ben crows, his voice echoing throughout the expansive living room.

"I'm not scared!" I retort hotly, my face blushing red from embarrassment. "I just wanted to come out and get some food."

I see the kind face of Blight, who told me just before chariots that he wasn't feeling so well and had to grab some pill from up here. Blight's the only one I like here. Our escort, Magenta, is both hot-headed and snotty, Johanna only likes Ben and she's terrifying, Ben himself is a manipulative brat, and all the other tributes appear looming, threatening.

"Blight," I say, grasping his hand and shaking it. He reminds me somewhat of Ivy, both making me feel welcome and homely. "Chariots were terrible!"

"I saw them on television," he replies gently, pointing to the wide screen that lies in front of all the couches and chairs, "I think you did splendid. What was the matter?"

Warming up immediately, I say, "Can I tell you over dinner? I'm starving."

"Of course."

The meal for tonight is a widespread buffet. There's deep-fried vegetables, crispy and golden on the outside but gooshy and savory on the inside, seafoods drenched in dressings, different salads, tons of creamy, chunky soups, sweet bits of some red fruit, many spareribs, and besides all the other food, there's lots and lots of loaves of bread, each loaf representing a district. I recognize one immediately, a white bread coated with ground almonds. Feeling homesick, I reach for a slice.

Ben's already piled his plate high with meats, some red in color, some blackened, some brown, some glazed. He barks at an Avox to fetch him a glass of milk, and I frown slightly at his manners, as does Magenta.

"You really shouldn't shout at them, Ben," she advises.

"I don't care," Ben retorts, his mouth stuffed full of chicken, "seeing as they're just our slaves. We can do whatever with them."

Blight gives him a stern look, and Johanna rolls her eyes. She's already bored with his façade, maybe even wishing she had chosen me instead of bold little Ben.

I butter up the piece of bread and Blight, swallowing some vegetables, asks quietly, "So why didn't you like chariots, Leaf?"

I snuck a look at Ben before sighing. "First off, when President Snow was making this long and boring speech, Ben spat his gum at Cohush from District Nine. So that alone was real uncomfortable."

Blight nods slowly. "Go on."

I spear some deep-fried green beans, playing with them around my plate. "Then in the elevators, Cohush confronted Ben and was all, 'Ooh, you spit your gum at me and I'm sooooo offended, ooh'." Blight chuckles, and I'm encouraged a little. I continue, "So then Ben ignores him, and Cohush the Crazy turns to me and goes, 'Ooh, little girl, let's be ALLIES!'"

Blight's face is split with a grin. "What did you say?"

My eyes widen emphatically as I jab the fork in the air with emphasis. "I didn't say nothing, just stared at him. He was crazy."

Blight nods, sipping something from a darkened flask. "Anyways, onto chariots. How do you think you did?"

I shrug, staring down at the table dejectedly. "I was too scared to do anything but stand there," I murmur. "All the lights and shrieking people were freaky."

"I remember how scared I was, too," Blight says kindly.

Johanna, who must have been eavesdropping from her end of the table, snorts loudly. "Blight was a sight to see," she tells me wickedly. "Cowering like a scared little boy."

"Fifteen's not that young," Blight defends himself.

"How'd you see his Games?" I ask Johanna, brow creasing. "You weren't even born when he won."

"Videos, dear Leaf," sighs Johanna. "If you want, I'll lend you some of my Games. I was great, if I say so m'self. I played up a scared little midget, when in reality I snapped one kid's neck off. Killing machine."

"I want to see that," Ben says greedily.

I wrinkle my nose at him, suddenly feeling a bit queasy. "I… I think I'm done with dinner."

Nobody comes after me when I run to my room, not even Blight.

**Francis Theroux, District Six**

The first morning of training is insane, much like my district partner. There's tons of running around on Dalton and Gingham's part, some shrieking and cursing on Jinx's part, and a lot of frantic, nervous nail-biting on my part.

First off, I would have been perfectly happy simply to stay at my home, working on another painting, unlike Jinx, who for some reason volunteered. I miss my brushes. I miss my canvases. I even miss my parents and their clients. Instead, my paints will be replaced with blood and my brushes with weapons; tridents, knives, and spears.

I would have been happy at home, even if my mother treated me more of a possession like she usually did. I sigh heavily, pushing away a cranberry muffin sadly.

"Aren't you hungry?" Dalton asks me with wide eyes. Although there's a ten-something-or-another age gap between us, I feel like he could be a younger brother to me.

"Not especially," I mumble. "I tend to have a lump in my throat whenever I get uncomfortable, and thus making it hard to swallow anything but water."

Dalton looks genuinely confused and Gingham, seeing an opportunity to open up to the vicious Jinx, asks her tribute a question.

"So, I've seen your chariots… what did you think of the stylists and the train ride?"

Jinx looks at her sullenly, her black hair hanging over her face like some bridal veil. "Well," she begins in a low, dark voice, "after they scrubbed my skin off enough to bring tears to my eyes, they tried to cut off my nails."

Jinx holds up a hand, which is embellished with several cuts and scratches, but the remarkable thing is her long, long, black nails, each which have a point on the end. I widen my eyes.

"They never got to that," Jinx smirks, digging her nails into her scone. She stares at it, watching the jelly ooze out from inside it, before announcing loudly, "I'm gonna go train."

And like that, she's stepped into the elevator and descends smoothly, a clean getaway.

I blink stupidly.

"Would you like to go down, too, Francis?" Dalton asks excitedly. "Oh, it was so fun! You get to throw around little twig things at fake people and slash open their fake people skin with knives!"

I furrow my brows. "I don't think I'll be doing much of that," I bleat out. "More like…. Well, I don't even know what stations they have, really…"

I'm so nervous about the whole thing I stay up in the living room for another good hour, and once I go down, I'm extremely late.

Atala, the trainer, as Gingham and Dalton told me, has retreated somewhere, leaving me to wonder if we really can touch all this stuff. There's impressive silver swords with hilts of bejeweled marble, truly a spectacle to see. And yet the brutish boy from One is simply shoving them on the ground once he's finished with them. I frown slightly, my feet softly padding over to another station distractedly.

There I see it– past all the melee weapons, past all the far-ranged weapons, there it is. My station. The camouflage station.

I begin running over there, but I'm easily winded and have to slow down to a brisk walk after only a couple seconds. It takes me a long time simply to reach there and I run into Jinx on the way (heavy sigh). She snarls out a "Hello, crazy," to me, but all I can respond is, "You think I'm crazy? I can't argue with you." but it's well worth it once I finally get there. It hasn't even been visited yet, and the trainer, a wiry man, looks pleased to see me.

"Do I just pick up the paint and use it?" I ask him quietly. He nods, bringing up a couple more trays of colors.

My eyes go wide at the sight, and instantly I know where I'll be spending most of my day.

First I swirl my fingers around in the colors, transforming soft blue into an evergreen hue. Red becomes orange, then a camel-colored tone. With glee I dart over to the fire-making section and snatch up a sturdy stick, then tie some pine needles to it for a paintbrush.

Happily I paint myself into a field of daisies, practicing first on my ankle, then the other one. My wrists turn into smooth grey stone, dabbled with moss and tiny bits of shale. My forearms will become the bark of a pine tree, and with relish I even add a bit of real wood to embellish it.

The trainer watches me silently, obviously impressed. His face is a mask of sheer delight, and after I transform my shins into dying yellow grass, he tells me I'm doing a stupendous job.

"Thanks," I murmur shyly, my cheeks flushing red. Although I did hundreds of paintings and I knew that somewhere, there, was a bit of talent, I never did get to hear the words '_Good job'_.

**Annabell Berry, District Twelve**

I throw the machete down in exasperation, plucking a few damp strands of hair from my head. Why is this so hard? All you have to do is slash across the dummy and _voila_, you've got it. I see the Careers doing it with ease, most of them in a tight little pack near the axes.

With the exception of two.

There's Braid Girl, as I've dubbed the girl from Two, as her hair was in braids both yesterday and today. She's with Mr. District Four, and they're quietly talking whilst they swing maces. Braids is terrible at it; Four's not that shabby. At least he hits the target whenever he swings, unlike her.

I slump down near the display and sigh heavily, my eyes squinting under the harsh light on the ceiling. Why is this so _hard_? Why did I volunteer? I could have stayed home and simply watched the Games like every other year…

Suddenly the lights that beam down on me stop, and I look up with a fluttering in my heart.

"Why ya just sitting here?"

It's the girl from Eight… Willa, I think her name is. Her blond hair is in braids, too, but on her they're somehow more flattering and girlish.

I shrug, hopping to my feet jitterishly.

"Can you talk? Are you mute?"

I shake my head, eyes on the ground.

"Then say something."

I open my mouth, but my voice is rusty after not having used it for so long. I cough a few times, swallow, and then…. "I have _nothing_ to say."

Willa smirks, shaking her head. "Come on. Everybody has something to say, District Twelve. Or… what's your name… the cow name? Jezebel? Annabeth?"

"Annabell," I croak out, hands to my throat.

"Annabell, right," Willa nods in sudden recognition. "I knew it was one of those. So hard to remember names when there's twenty-three other ones to know, plus the prep team and your stylist, escort, mentor, President Snow…"

I realize she's kidding and force a feeble laugh, but after giggling silently for so long it just feels wrong. I regret speaking to her. I should have simply stared at her stonily.

"So, yeah, I know it's probably wayyyy to early for allies…" My heart flutters again, and I look up into those twinkling blue eyes. "…but since I really don't wanna be alone, whatcha say we train together, swing some maces around and show the effing Careers who's really boss around here?"

I nod emphatically, sweat pricking at my palms.

"But first…" Willa looks at me heavily, heaving a sigh. "I'd sort of like to know why you volunteered?"

My gaze goes back to the ground sadly. Nobody will understand why I did it. Their lives are all sunshine, rainbows, and ponies.

"C'mon…." Willa prods cheerily. "I heard you talk before, ya can do it again…"

I shake my head, placing my head in my hands. "S-S-Sorry."

Willa sighs lightly before linking arms with me. "Whatever you say, we're gonna show 'em who's boss, like I said!"

I force a grin, but it quickly diminishes as we come right next to Braids and District Four. Little Miss District Two merely glances over and continues swinging her mace, whilst Four smiles toothily at us and actually _speaks_.

"You two lovely ladies need a lesson in maces?"

Willa grins right back, although her smile is much more venom-packed. "We'd adore one!" she chirps festively. "That would be just peachy!"

Four glances over to me, watching me shrink into Willa's shadows. "Your little friend want a session too, or is she just here to watch?"

Willa turns back to me. I stare urgently at her, silently telling her that I really don't want to talk to the imposing Career. With a flash of golden blond hair, she's turned her head back to Four and trilled, "Well, of course she would! Annabell loves lessons, don't ya?" I'm relieved when she doesn't expect an answer.

The Career prods his friend from Two on the shoulder. "Fina, want to help me out here?"

The girl's icy eyes scan over us, her gaze shocking. "No, thank you," she tells her ally coolly, "I'd actually rather like to see you attempt being a teacher more. And please Percy, don't call me Fina. My name is Serafina."

District Four raises his eyebrows. "Fine. Ready, outlier ladies?"

I am not too keen on the idea of being called "outlier ladies" but I nod anyways, as did Willa. Percy, as his name apparently was, launches into this discussion about how to hold a mace correctly. He's about to teach us how to swing it when there came heavy footsteps behind us.

I whirl around to come face-to-face with the soft eyes of District Two. The boy from One isn't far behind, his scowl overpowering any sign of gentleness on his face.

"Percy," District Two speaks in a subdued tone. "Coral says she wants to speak with you."

Percy avoids eye contact with us, simply marches past to the station where the rest of the Careers are at. After a moment, Serafina follows suit.

"Guess the moment is over," Willa sighs.

**Percy Brizo, District Four**

Ignoring the two outlier girls, I stroll past them with only one thought on my mind. What could Coral possibly want?

Slate and Bruce lead me to the archery section, where Constance is proving herself worthy of a bow and arrow whilst Coral's missing every time. I hear footsteps padding behind me and glance back to see Serafina, her stony eyes glaring at the other two girls.

"Coral?" I ask loudly, causing her to turn to me. "What did you need?"

Coral's eyes flicker to the rest of our alliance before she walks over to me, casting the weapon to the ground. "I need to talk to you in private," she murmurs, her sea green eyes widening.

I trail behind her as she leads me to the axe section, where only a couple other tributes are swinging the weapons. She motions for me to sit on the ground, which I slowly comply to.

"What did you need?" I repeat.

Coral reaches up just above her eyebrow and slowly rubs the faint trace of a scar. "I think I found your weapon of choice," she says softly.

"What?"

"You know how you told me you hated using tridents?"

"What, are you making me use hooks?" I say sarcastically.

Coral shakes her head, rubbing the scar quicker and quicker. "No, no, nothing like that, Percy. Instead I think you should try archery."

"Why?" my eyebrows furrow, truly confused. "How do you know for sure that I won't completely suck at it?"

Coral's gaze wanders off to something behind me, and she begins smiling at something. "Well," she begins slowly, "you told me yourself that your aim was impeccable, correct?"

"Um, yeah, I guess."

"And you also told me you weren't very strong."

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. "I told our mentors that!"

"Right," Coral giggles, finally removing her hand from the scar, "but it was sort of loud. I overheard you, Percy."

I frown slightly, motioning for the girl to continue. "Mmkay…"

Coral cracks her knuckles and squirms, obviously wishing she hadn't brought this up. "I don't know, a bow is sort of light, and the arrows don't require much to carry them, just a sheath or a pocket. So… you could use a bow and arrow instead of a sword or something like you're expected to. Shock them all." She keeps looking behind me at something, and it's getting annoying. I want eye contact.

I glare. "Right, Coral, and what will your weapon of choice be?"

Coral reddens, her cheeks now matching my own. "I'm going to use a trident."

I breathe in, pointing to her. "Right-o. Shocking them all, I see."

Coral snaps like a thin wire. "Well, at least I'm competent with a trident!" she growls. "I'm not _wavering_ like somebody here!"

I know I've struck a nerve with her. I roll onto my back, close my eyes. "Coral…" I begin slowly. "I'm sorry, man—"

But when I open my eyes, my district partner's already storming off, heading to the knife station, away from our alliance.

Right as I begin to get up, there's a muffled scuffling noise from behind me and I see the midget girl from Seven, her face masked by her thin brunette locks. She was hiding behind a dummy, watching us the entire time. Usually I'd simply ignore her, but since I'm in a wretched mood I snarl out, "Scram, brat."

The girl fearfully complies, and I press a hand to my temple, upset. What did I just _do_?

I stride back to the throwing knife station where my alliance has moved. As soon as I arrive and curl my fingers around some knives, I notice that Serafina watches me like some lost puppy, Constance is pathetically attempting to aim for the chest of one dummy in particular, and Brucite and Slate are just standing in a corner, gossiping like some little kids. My alliance isn't really the friendliest.

Coral was the one person I truly trusted within this union, and seeing as she now loathes me, I'm the sore thumb of the Career pack. No one else has made a move to befriend me in any way, and Serafina's not friendly, she's just annoying. She acts all icy, but I think she secretly likes me or something. The girl won't stop following me.

But a friend is a friend is a friend. Even if that friend is irritating and stalkerish, I might as well try to form a bond with _somebody_.

**Savanna Poppet, District Ten**

I'm so freaked out right now, it's not even funny. Ever since my wonderful, _dear_ escort hollered out my name, I've been so paranoid. _I'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadiiiiiiiiie_. It's so… ironic.

"I'm following in his footsteps," I murmur quietly to myself. "This is like a dream gone horridly wrong."

My hands wrap around the machete tightly. I know I'm not going to fare very well with weapons at all. Most are too heavy and clunky, whilst the rest are… they're just stupid. For instance, a wire garrote, which Nubu seems to favor. How are you going to wrap that around somebody's neck without getting a finger sliced off? Or poisons, which I've had no luck with at all. Sure, the idea of it is nice. But how will you use it? Throw a pot of poison at somebody? Dunk your weapon in some?

I'm also not too crazy on the idea of survival methods. I mean, some arenas have been buildings such as funky-colored cities and ships. You can't exactly use tree bark to cure an infection _there_.

Another tribute comes near me and immediately I'm on my best behavior, murmuring witty things and grinning a lot. Alliances are my best bet, especially since I can't handle weapons at all and Nubu's a bit too secretive for my tastes.

It's the blond, skeletal girl from District Eight. Willow or Willa, her name is. She seems like she'd make a splendid ally, especially since she even looks the part. She's not ugly or anything, a bonus.

"Machetes suck," she says to me, and I agree immediately. But then I realize she's speaking to the girl from Twelve, who's like a ghost in her shadows. Are they allies already?

"Are you looking for an alliance?" Willow/Willa asks me curiously, her blue eyes twinkling.

"I'm not too sure," I say immediately, my heart thundering. "I mean. I suck at weapons and my district partner's really crazy, I mean, like, super insane. He's so secretive and stuff like that, heh. I don't fare too well with people like that. What do you think?"

I've chattered too much, and the girl openly acknowledges this. The repulsed look on her face tells me that yes, I've been an idiot.

"Well, I hope you and your district partner come to terms," she mutters, turning away. "C'mon, Annabell, let's go try some spears."

My hopes have sunk. If the friendly, cheery girl rejects me then I must be such an outcast, nobody else will want me. I fiddle around with the split ends of my chestnut hair for a bit, simply thinking to myself. Then there's a movement from behind me, and not a very pleasant one.

"Move, you old nincompoop," spits Ben from Seven, his face a mixture of disgust and pure hatred. "I wanna try throwing an axe."

I feel so weak I don't even try to respond. I move to the side and watch him toss the machete feebly, clattering on the ground a good five feet from the dummy. Angry, he turns on his heel and darts to the next station. Not even a minute in and that kid has given up. What a chump.

"You wanna try again, girl?" the trainer asks me, but I shake my head. Maybe I'll fare better trying something not weaponry not survival.

I find the camouflage section, where there's only Francis from Six. Once he sees me, he quickly throws his brush to the ground and darts to the fire-making section. I sigh heavily and trudge up to the counter.

"Paint, please?"

He hands me a tin tray consisting of bright colors, ones that probably would never be found in nature ordinarily. I smile softly, fakely, and plop down on the ground, absentmindedly swirling the red and the green together with my fingers.

I wonder what Holly and Reno are doing right now, if they're mourning or what. I bet my uncle has considered himself a failure. Maybe my mother's forgotten to feed the cattle in her grief, or my father is pacing around the room sadly. Maybe my friends are all gathered together, crying, just waiting for a sign. Maybe that wretched girl who was once Elijah's girlfriend is sullenly staring out into space, a shell of the person she once was.

I begin spattering the paint on my wrists, pleased to see that I've made a sort of dark sepia color. It looks a bit like mud, but to mimic real mud I'd need twigs, little pine needles.

I smile to myself, biting my lip to fight the positive waves. I'm finally getting something that I could potentially be good at.

**Slate Bessarion, District Two**

The bell clangs metallically, and I automatically turn my head. The first day of training is over. Fun, I suppose. And to be perfectly honest, it has been fun. I've really been bonding with Brucite, whilst the pair from Four I'm not too crazy about. Serafina and Constance (Connie, I tease her) are all gung ho and that. Percy and Coral are sort of… like siblings. One moment they're squabbling, the next they're working together all happy.

I toss my rapier onto the counter without a backwards look. I didn't get to run the gauntlet today, which was one of my main goals, but I suppose that a full day tomorrow will provide the time needed.

I step into the elevator, gnawing on my toothpick boredly. There's a bunch of other tributes in the elevator, although I don't know many of their names. There's Constance, who was the first to rush into the elevator, then the pair from Twelve– he of the greasy hair and she of the no-talking – the tall, silent, feral-looking girl from Six, the groomed blondie from Three, and the boy from Eight, who's snapping a gum bubble boredly, much like I am.

Constance leaves first with a flirty little wave, and I'm next to get off. I don't look back at the other tributes, but I can tell that they must be jealous of the way I swagger off with such confidence. I smirk inwardly, but maintain the same austere expression on my mug.

Enobaria and Brutus are the first faces I see. Each of them are chattering away as they watch something on television, plucking small sausages from the bluish plate between them. They haven't realized I'm back.

"Hello," I announce, bursting between them and snatching up the sausage plate. "I see you've made me supper. How _nice_ of you."

Enobaria giggles tipsily, which alerts me that she might not be in the most stable state of mind. The champagne glass on the table also clues me in to this. "Oh, Sage, you're so funny."

"Enobaria, my name is Slate," I prod. "You've gotten that wrong since I've been here."

"Give 'er a break, Slate," Brutus burps. "It's hard remembering two tributes' names every year. Last year it was, erm, Thalia and… and… Clementine, I think. Not too easy to slip off the tongue, eh, Enobaria?"

Enobaria throws back her head, letting out a wide-mouthed cackle. I get a good glimpse of her golden fangs before she settles down.

Serafina's suddenly next to me. She slipped in so silently I didn't realize it until she tried and grabbed a sausage off of the plate.

"Do you mind?"

"Sorry," she stares at me with her creepy blue eyes that seem to be watching me over all the time. "Training makes a girl hungry, don't it?"

"I wouldn't know," I reply smoothly, unruffled. "I'm not a female."

Serafina locks eyes with me for a moment before shaking her head, popping the sausage into her mouth. It annoys me how aloof she is, but I suppose since I myself was raised around the arrogant, I shouldn't be so… so _judgmental_.

Serafina reaches into her slim navy jumpsuit and pulls out her token– a snowflake on a chain. Her eyes sparkle with delight as she watches the light glare off of the spokes, the snowflake itself twirling and swirling about to create a frosty illusion.

Not to be outdone, I snatch up my own token. It's an arrowhead necklace, one that's been in my family for many generations. An heirloom, I suppose you'd call it. It has three words inscribed on the back in another language, but I only know two. I rub my thumb over the jagged edges, marveling in its stony splendor.

I don't realize that Serafina's watching me until I feel her cold breath against my exposed neck. I jerk away.

"Can I see that for a moment, please?" she says it like she's doing me a favor.

"I'd rather not," I reply, my voice cracking a little. "Maybe I could see that little snowflake of yours?"

Serafina clutches her token tightly to her chest. "N-never," she stutters, her eyes huge and watery. I, for one, am stunned at her sudden change of character and can only watch her retreating figure dash into the kitchen, slamming the heavy frosted glass door behind her.

I turn to Brutus and Enobaria. "What do you think that was about?"

"Scared girl," Brutus spits. "Probably one of those people who will turn on ya. Watch out for the girl, Slate."

I waver for a moment, smiling uncertainly, before I murmur, "But I do trust her. She's my district partner."

They don't hear me, and I don't really care.

**Willa Seamstress, District Eight**

I smooth down the front of my mustard yellow jumpsuit, waiting patiently as the two from Four exit silently. They're the only other two in the elevator besides Annabell and me. We all were the last ones; Annabell and I since we had just started shooting arrows, and the two from Four because honestly, those two have their own little problems.

"Excited for tomorrow?" I ask Annabell cheerily. She shrugs.

"I'm sure I can find myself a good ally or four," I kid, looking for her reaction. She smiles wanly, teetering on the balls of her feet as she looks down. "Oh, which reminds me. I don't think it's too early now to start looking for an alliance. How 'bout it?"

The girl from Twelve looks so delighted that I hug her. "Is that a yes?" She nods eagerly, her wild blond hair lightly clapping along her face. "Great!" I sing out, dancing around the vacated elevator. "We should form a pack and everything, and you can be my co-leader!" Annabell keeps grinning, the positive vibes simply _radiating_ off of the girl.

"I've been eyeing up the boy from Five, or his district partner. What about you?"

"Ten," she says softly, her voice hoarse and croaking.

"The girl or boy? Girl?" She shakes her head. "Nubu, I think the boy's name is. I think he'd be a trustworthy ally. Good job, you picked an awesome one!" Annabell beams. "We just have to get him to join. If we get both from Five and him, we'll have a nice round number of five in our alliance, and we could easily rival the Careers," I muse out loud.

The elevator dings and I stride out confidently, waving bye-bye to my newfound ally. I can't wipe the beam off of my face, and I don't want to. I mean, this is excellent. Annabell's totally trustworthy, and even though she's next-to-mute, she has some of the best ideas ever. Nubu Chandlers? Seriously? I hadn't even considered him. But now that I think about it, I do remember him being decent with a garrotte, and his accuracy with a throwing knife wasn't too shabby, either.

My mentor, Woof, is chewing on some peas when I enter the kitchen. "Anything to eat or do we just snatch somethin' out of the fridge?"

"There be d-d-dinner coming s-s-soon," Woof stutters slowly. "I have work attend to, I eat early."

I scowl. "You're my mentor," I say accusingly. "Aren't you supposed to give me advice whilst we eat or something? You did this morning, didn't you?"

Camo enters the kitchen, his hulking form quiet. "Should I leave or…" he mumbles, blowing a thick pink gum bubble.

"No," I say, grabbing his shoulders and plopping him down in a suede chair. "You can join in the conversation, Mr. Mysterious. Woof here thinks he can escape me to go do some 'work'."

Camo stares at me with those entrancing brown eyes of his. "And why is that a problem, Willa?"

I stamp my foot, which results in an echoing 'clack' all around the kitchen. "Woof here is my mentor!" I screech. "He could be my difference between life or death!"

Camo's mentor, a soft-spoken woman named Celia or Cecelia or something like that, enters the room quietly. "Woof has surgery scheduled tonight," she tells me quietly. "He needs to go in in about a half-hour."

Feeling ridiculous, I squeeze my cheeks between my palms to try and hide the redness that creeps up in a fierce blush. "Oh, well…"

"It's an open-heart transplant," Cecelia says even more quietly. "His heart's been failing him."

I stare at her incredulously. "Are you serious," I mutter to myself, storming out of the room.

"Couldn't he have had surgery when he was mentoring another tribute?"

**Bark Umbral, District Eleven**

I force a smile as the Avox sets down a plate of golden-glazed duck in front of me, the bill still intact. "This smells delightful," I begin.

Nessa, who sits next to me, her body rigid, agrees quickly. "Better than groosling any old day, hm?" she says with a laugh so forced it's unbelievable.

I look to my mentor for consent. "Can we dig in? Training made me hungry."

"You may."

Eagerly, licking my chops with relish, I begin slicing off a thick slice of duck that makes my very mouth water. The combination of garlic, honey glaze, and savory met invades my senses. My stomach growls angrily, reminding me that it wants to eat now.

Then I catch a glimpse of Nessa, beside me. Her brown eyes are gaunt, searching the table piled with various foods. "I can't even believe this," she murmurs to herself. "All this food…"

I definitely agree. Back in Eleven, if you had gotten a roast, glazed duck with all the fixings you must have been a traveler. Not even the mayor feasted on such wonderful, exotic foods.

I begin scooping some reddish gelatin-like food onto my plate, which is crowded with small berries. "This must be sooooo delicious," I whisper happily, my eyes tearing up. In a way, this was a blessing, getting to try all this delicious cuisine. I never ever would have gotten this option back in Eleven. I would have been lucky to find one of these berries on the ground, mushed by Quill's shoe.

Nessa still hasn't touched anything. Her hands are folded, her eyes taking everything in. I jab her with the hilt of my spoon. "Are you not hungry?"

"Oh, I am," Nessa nods rapidly, her corkscrews bouncing, "but I just want to make everything last. There is so many things here and if I tried them all, I'd simply pop!"

I nod in agreement. "Then just take what I'm getting," I offer, "and later, if we're hungry, we can fix ourselves up a midnight feast."

A ghost of a smile crosses Nessa's chin and she nods slowly again. "I'm thinking of maybe the mushroom soup." She lightly touches a silver pot with her fork. "But the raspberry soup looks amazing, too." She clinks her silverware against a pot filled with frothy rose-colored soup, dotted with the berries in question.

"Take them both," I advise. "You've got all night to wolf them down."

Nessa smiles, for real this time. "Thanks for the advice, Bark." She gently begins ladling the pinkish soup into a white bowl, making sure no drops hit the table.

I watch her carefully, bringing the roast duck up to my lips in silence. Nessa seems extremely nice. I wonder if I should offer her an alliance? Or would that just bring pain…

"Nessa, do you want to be my ally?" The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them, but right after they come out, Nessa's turned to me, her brown eyes alert and wide.

"I'd love to, Bark," she says softly.

I turn back to my food dumbly, wondering why my mouth betrayed me like that. I can't go back to the girl and simply say, "My offer's been revoked." That would be a punch in the gut to her. No, I need to make myself as unappealing as possible to try and get _her_ to revoke it. The only reason she said yes was probably since I was so sweet.

I lean over my plate and drool duck sauce down onto it, therefore disgusting myself more than anybody else. Disgust claws blindly at my insides, and I wipe my mouth and the plate with a napkin, my stomach turning. Nessa didn't see it at all.

Oh, well. Maybe having an ally _is_ all it's cracked up to be.

**A/N: Smile Like You Mean It by the Killers.**

**HOOO boy. Twelve POV's and ten thousand words later. How'd you all like this? :D And if you thought I was cruel with those questions… WAIT TILL YOU SEE THESE.**

**QUESTION TIME! ^o^**

**1. What were your thoughts on EACH POV?**

**2. Which POV did you like best and why?**

**3. Which POV did you like least and why?**

**4. On a love/like/neutral/no/hate scale, what do you rate these tributes?**

***example on the above* (DOES NOT REPRESENT MY VIEWS):**

**Love: Percy, Cohush, Leaf**

**Like: Bark, Alessandra, Annabell**

**Neutral: Slate, Constance, Aister**

**No: Francis, Willa**

**Hate: Savanna**

**5. Which tributes are you looking forward to reading?**


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